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" We need not bid for cloistered cell, 
Our neighbour or our friend farewell ; 
Nor strive to wind ourselves too high, 
For mortal mau beneath the sky." 

The Cheistian Year. 






The rufht of Translation is reserved. 

c BilliBg, Printer, 103, Hatton Garden, London, and Guildford, Surrey. 





Lucy looked very pale, and felt very sad and 
sick at heart. Not only had she been mucli 
shocked by the scene in Arundel Street, but 
now that this hideous, but, alas ! too common 
tragedy, had been enacted there, she knew 
it was very doubtful whether any letter that 
Henry Greville addressed to her at that place 
would be taken in ; in short, she did not feel at 
all sure that one would ever reach her hands. 

Jaded and dejected, every thing looked dark 
and gloomy to the poor young Daily Govcr- 



iiess ; but it is in the darkest sky that the 
Polar star shines the brightest, and the Polar 
star of Lucy's mental firmament was Paith. 
Brightly and clearly rose that star on the mid- 
night of the young girl's mind, and as Paith 
without works is void, so the first work on 
which that star shone, was the work of self- 
sacrifice in the devoted daughter's heart. 

No murmur, no word of dejection or de- 
spair, passed her lips. She welcomed her 
mother with cheerful accents, owned she was 
tired, agitated by the scene she graphically 
liescribed as having occurred in Arundel 
Street, and said nothing of any other cause of 
distress or anxiety. She then made the tea, 
boiled her mother's egg, and buttered the 
toast ; and soon, from the noble effort to ap- 
pear calm and composed, became so in reality. 

Mrs. Blair at this time was much better 
pleased with the aspect of affairs than was 
poor Lucy ; she was much less sensitive and 
imaginative, and much more sanguine, credu- 


lous, and simple-minded than her daughter. 
She had great faith in the editor of the 
'' Monday Review," and in Lucy's talents and 
influence over him, and she could make her- 
self perfectly happy and contented as long as 
Lucy was present before her, weaving, with her 
fancy, a glittering web of her child's future 
destiny ^ and with her fingers knitting, netting, 
or crocheting warm jackets and stockings 
for herself and her darling during the ap- 
proaching winter. Just now she was engaged 
on a scarlet comforter for the scraggy throat 
of Mr. Grinlay Snarl, and Lucy, when break- 
fast was over, and her simple marketing done, 
sat down to her ecritoire to embody Grinlay 
Snarl's suggestions for the tale to be called 
"Trains and Travellers." 

At first she found it very difficult to con- 
centrate her thoughts, and, with all the world 
before her, to know on what people and inci- 
dents to fix; but having once decided, her 
pen and her fancy worked rapidly together ; 


her occupation began to interest, to warm, and 
to fascinate her ; she found one thing grow 
out of another without much trouble to her- 
self, and by the time Dinah had laid the 
cloth for the simple four o'clock dinner, and 
the boiled mutton and turnips were on the 
table, Lucy had finished her task. 

Plain as was their fare, boiled mutton, 
a fcAV vegetables, and a sago pudding, all was 
excellent of its kind — and Lucv had worked 
so hard, that she was positively hungry. ^Irs. 
Blair too had made great progress with the 
comforter, and after dinner, as it was a splendid 
autumnal day, j\Irs. Blair and Lucy resolved 
to refresh and strengthen themselves by a walk 
between dinner and tea. 

They made their way through the now de- 
serted streets, and arrived at Hyde Park. 

The grass was still beautifully green and 
soft, the trees had not quite shed their leaves, 
and a soft breeze stirred the blue ripples of 
the Serpentine. 


Lovely as was the scene, it was deserted by 
all except citizens, invalids, and nursery maids, 
with those instruments of torture to poor little 
helpless infants — perambulators — in which 
they were tied and left with the sun in their 
eyes and the wind blowing in their faces, while 
their nurses flirted with their sweethearts in 
the shade. 

With the exquisite sense of enjoyment of 
the beauties of nature which belongs to the 
poetic temperament, Lucy threv/ back her 
double gossamer veil, and felt her eyes, hot and 
tired with writing, and her brow, wearied with 
thought, revive as the west breeze played in 
the golden ripples of her auburn hair, while 
the sun lighted up its rich masses. 

Lucy was so intent on the beautiful evo- 
lutions of some graceful snow-white swans, 
that she was not aware of the approach oi* 
two over-dressed, under-bred Regent Street 
" swells," until Strutt and Stair accosted her. 
Their manner was divested of all the deference 


they had been wont to pay to the reigning belle 
of Hastings. 

They did not uncover their weak heads of 
closely-cropped flaxen hair, nor did they even 
raise their glossy new hats. They nodded 
familiarly ; there was an attempt at sarcasm in 
their impertinent smiles. Lucy drew herself 
up — poor Mrs. Blair tried to conciliate by 
extreme poHteness ; but it woukl not do. Not 
only they had seen Lucy and her mother go 
off in a third-class carriage, but they had been 
at Bonvivant House, and had heard that this 
" admired of all beholders,'* this " cynosure 
of neighbouring eyes," Avas after all only a 
Daily Governess. 

" I say, Miss Blair," cried Strutt, " have 
you a few morning or evening hours disen- 
gaged ?" 

" Yes," chimed in Stair, '' that's what I 
want to know. Are you open to an engage- 
ment, Miss Blair, eh ? What do you teach, 
eh? . . ." 


" What I am sure you could never learn," 
said Lucy, exasperated beyond measure. 
. "What's that, eh, Miss Blair?" 

" Good manners, Sir," said Lucy, with a 
haughty bow, passing on, and leaving the as- 
tounded clerks, in their own slang, '' dished, 
cut up, and done brown." 

Lucy and her mother walked on in silence 
for some time, and then Mrs, Blair said : — 

" You see, my dear, to what insults the 
being a Daily Governess exposes you ! Do 
try and put up with any little eccentricities in 
Mr. Grinlay Snarl, and have done with an oc- 
cupation that lays you open to so much insult 
and annoyance." 

Lucy was silent — she thought with a shud- 
der of the insults and annoyances to which 
she was exposed in both careers, that of an 
authoress and a daily governess. 

For how could she disguise to herself the 
fact that Mr. Grinlay Snarl became more and 
more meddling, ill-bred, and dictatorial every 


time she saw him, and that a something of the 
look and manner of an encouraged lover was 
beginning to add to the embarrassment and 
disgust Lucy felt in his presence. However; 
she could not bear to destroy her mother's new 
hopes, and so she was silent, and after two or 
three turns up and down the promenade, they 
left the park. 

As they were passing out at the gates oppo- 
site the Duke of Wellington's equestrian 
statue, they stopped for a moment at the 
crossing, while a very elegant phaeton, with 
four horses and out-riders, passed rapidly by. 

In the gentleman, who drove four-in-hand, 
Lucy at a glance recognised Sir Hamilton 
Treherne, and by his side, elegantly dressed 
and looking very blooming, smiling, and hand- 
some, was her quondam pupil, Augusta Ha- 
milton Treherne. Augusta, though three 
years younger than Lucy, was now so nuich 
larger, and had features so much more 
marked, that she looked older than her former 


governess — and for one moment the contrast 
of their destinies struck poor Lucy painfully. 
''What but toil, anxiety, humiUation, and 
disappointment have I to expect ?" she said to 
herself. " What but ease, pleasure, comfort, 
and enjoyment await her?" but the next moment 
Lucy was ashamed of a feeling of envy and 
discontent, which her high and Christian 
principles condemned as sinful. " What," she 
said to herself, " are all poor Augusta's bless- 
ings compared to the love of such a mother 
as mine ? What comfort can she find in the 
caresses of a mother who only loves her when 
others praise and adore her, and who, if she 
is slighted by the world, will add to her dis- 
tress by bitterness and reproach ? Then, too, 
Augusta is conscious of the inordinate expec- 
tations and ambitious hopes her mother centres 
in her. She has herself imbibed a good deal 
of the restless wish to rise and to shhie ; this 
feeling embitters the transient pleasures of 
girlhood, and if, as is not impossible, her debut 


next spring should be a failure, and no peer 
should lay a coronet at her feet, or some more 
})rilliant or assuming beauties eclipse her, she 
will have to bear not only her own disappoint- 
ment, but her mother's too ! And maternal 
disappointment, in such a heart as Lady 
Hamilton Treherne's, is a very bitter, insult- 
ing, unamiable feeling, indeed. On the 
whole, I would rather be Lucy Blair, seeking 
to maintain my loving and beloved mother, 
than Augusta Hamilton Treherne, arrayed for a 
Court ball, and the object of countless absurd 
hopes, almost sure to end in disappointment." 




Lucy had scarcely taken off her bonnet, 
and arranged the tea-table a little, when Mr. 
Grinlay Snarl arrived, followed by a lad carry- 
nig a game pie of no ordinary dimensions. 
He seemed in high good-humour, and while 
the tea was being made, rocked himself in the 
American chair to his heart's content. After 
tea, he very authoritatively desired Lucy to 
read her MS., and Lucy, with an involuntary 
smile at his manner, and with the becoming 


blushes of a literary debutante, proceeded as 
follows : — 

" One bright summer morning, I was tra- 
velling by a branch train from Y to 

Oxford : the carriage I w^as in (a first-class 
one) was quite full — so, indeed, were all the 
carriages, first, second, and third classes. It 
Avas glorious weather, and travelling is so 
pleasant in fine w^eather ! When we were fairly 
off — farewells said — promises of Avriting given 
— hands waved while eyes could see them, 
and sighs lost in the screech of the 'fire 
king' — when the cool gloom of the arched 
station w^as left behind, and the bright sun- 
shine and fresh air gushed in, I began to look 
about me, and to speculate a little on the 
position in life, tempers, and characters of 
those — perfect strangers half-an-hour ago — 
and now more closely located with me than 
any clear friend would ever be after a long 
intimacy, in other scenes. Opposite to mc 
Avas a young man, apparently military, though 


not ill regimentals ; of gentlemanly, interest- 
ing appearance — not ill, at least not haggard, 
sunken-eyed, hollow cheeked, or emaciated, 
but ghastly pale, with a quivering lip, a trem- 
bling hand, and a nervous, anxious manner. 
A beautiful girl, about eighteen, and a stout, 
line, elegant woman — a middle-aged blonde, 
fat, fair, and fifty — her mother, seemed 
to be of his party. The girl, very tall, dark, 
black-haired, with large, lustrous eyes, and 
Grecian features, was pale and tremblhig as 
himself ; and they frequently interchanged 
looks of sympathy, distress, and impatience. 
The mamma was cat-like in her gentleness, 
and quite composed. She read her ' Mon- 
day Review' with earnest attention, now 
smiling, now pensive, occasionally smelt at her 
jlacon, and took a bon-bon from her bonbon- 
mere ; her dress was scrupulously neat, rich, 
nice, choice, and appropriate ; and it was evi- 
dent that, whatever the cause of the wretch- 
edness and restless anxiety legible in her 


daughter's tearful eyes, and the young gen- 
tleman's ghastly pallor, she was not much 
affected by it. 

" The poor girl, whom I heard her address 
as her ' dear, dear Constance,' had evidently 
dressed herself with great haste and mental 
absorption ; her gloves were not ' pairs' (or, 
as they say in the North, ' neighbours') ; one 
was black, one dark green ; she had a lace 
ruffle on one wTist, not on the other; her 
large cashmere was pinned a^vTy, her hair dis- 
hevelled, and the flowers and blonde of her 
bonnet-cap crushed. As her mother, with a 
calm, graceful, but rather feline smile, whis- 
pered to her, ' My dear, dear Constance, what 
a figure you are !' she hastily pulled down her 
' black burglar' (alias, veil of black crochet 
wool), and conveying her handkerchief to her 
eyes, wept long and bitterly. 

" The young gentleman took her hand, 
smiled a tearful smile, as he noted the differ- 
ent colour of her gloves, and whispered, 


' Don't weep so, Constance, while there's hfe 
there's hope.' 

" She shook her head, and the faint attempt 
to comfort only renewed her grief. 

" The mamma looked up from her ' Re- 
view/ made a little clicking noise with her 
tongue, expressive of pity and annoyance, and 
took a homoeopathic globule. 

There was another traveller, about w^hom 
there was an oddity of manner and appear- 
ance that made one look and look again, in 
spite of oneself. Warm as it was, the tra- 
veller in question was wrapped in a large 
overcoat, the collar of which reached the ears, 
and descended to the ankles ; the hat (rather 
a broad-brimmed one) was drawn down to the 
eyebrows. What with the collar and the hat, 
very little of the face was seen ; a long, sharp, 
pale yellow nose, however, projected, and long, 
restless black eyes glanced through green 
spectacles ; the mouth was wide and thin- 
Hpped, with very long, yellow, projecting teeth ; 


and the voice very squeaking and unpleasant. 
This strange being resisted all attempts made 
by the young gentleman to get the corner 
near the window for the pale and agitated 
Constance. I concluded it was some selfish 
old bachelor, or perhaps a poor feeble in- 

" After refusing, in a cracked voice, to give 
the young lady the corner, the hat was drawn 
further down, and the collar higher up, the 
' Times' taken out of the great-coat pocket, 
and perused till we reached Oxford. But in 
the meantime I had become, by mere accident, 
acquainted with the histoiy of my other com- 

" I heard the young officer address the 
elder lady as Mrs. Fanshawe. The name 
struck me at once. The late Colonel Fan- 
shawe was my guardian — my father's dearest, 
oldest friend. I had heard that while abroad, 
in the West Indies, he had married a very hand- 
some blonde, a Miss Brooke, who, by the bye, 


had jilted her first love for the sake of this 
bon parti. 

'' ' May I be excused the liberty I take,' 
said I, ' in asking if Mrs. Fanshawe is in any 
way related to the late Colonel Fanshawe, of 
St. Vincent's ?' 

" ' I am his Avidow,' said the lady. 

" ' And I was his ward.' 

" ' Then you are Henrietta ?' 

" ' I am.' * 

" ' Oh, I have so often longed to see you,' 
said the lady, holding out her hand. 

" ' Poor, dear papa,' said Constance, ' he so 
often spoke of you as such a darling little 
girl, and said your father was the only true 
friend he ever had.' 

" ' I have a letter to you, written not long 
before he died,' said Mrs. Fanshawe, 'but 
since I have been in England I have not had 
a moment to myself.' 

*' A jerk, a start, a screech of the engine, 
and a whistle of the guard silenced us. We 

VOL. III. ^ 


had to get out at the W station, and 

await another branch train. Constance and 
the young gentleman (evidently partners in 
sorrow) paired off, and walked arm-in-arm up 
and down the platform. Mrs. Tanshawe and 
I did the same. 

" It was torture to the poor, young, anxious 
mourners to have to await this other train. 
Oh, how dreadful is such a delay, when life 
and death seem to depend on speed ! 

" ' I dare say,' said Mrs. Fanshawe, ' you 
have noticed the distress of my Constance 
(Miss Fanshawe), and of Mr. Willoughby, who 
is with us ?' 

" ' I have, indeed, and with great concern.' 

*' ' Poor girl, she is so romantic, so full of 
poetry, and, I must say, of what seems to nic 
almost absurdity ; but so was the poor colon'el. 
Oh, no one knows what I hava had to suffer, 
and what I have lost through his romantic 
Quixotism of temper ; you will hardly believe 
that, but for that, I should be five hundred a 


year better off than I am. It's a long story, 
and I hope I may have a better opportunity of 
telling it (with a gracious bow) at Fanshawe 
Hall ; but through that romantic mania I am 
minus the house in Fitzroy Square, the farm 
in Norfolk, and £6000 in the three per cents.' 

"'But what is the cause of Miss Pan- 
shawe's evident distress ?' 

" ' Oh, the same romantic folly. At St. 
Vincent's she chose to engage herself to young 
Arthur Willoughby, whose all depends on his 
taking a ' double-first.' His uncle, Sir Felix 
Willoughby (another romantic old Quixote, a 
great scholar and antiquary), has promised to 
make him his heir, and allow him at once 
£800 a year, if he takes a double-first class. 
The old man is, I believe, half cracked. If 
he is heir to Sir Felix, it's a noble match for 
Constance ; if not, Constance cannot do worse. 
Now, I wanted her to make her promise of 
consent conditional. She, quite a Fanshawe 
— the colonel, poor dear man, over again — 


VOWS, if failure and ruin are his portion, they 
shall be hers too ; and she won't hear a word 
of reason — her father never would before her ; 
but kind Providence, I beheve, has taken pity 
upon me. Arthur Willoughby, madly in love 
with her, has read himself almost frantic, and 
his examination has been going on through 
the last fortnight, which fortnight has almost 
destroyed Constance, and, indeed, her poor 
mother. Well, I think, entre 7ious, he has 
greatly overrated his own poAvers. I dare 
say he never had a chance, and he has not 
taken the necessary time, so eager is he to 
secure Constance, who has had a much better 
offer from Sir Geoffrey Bulhon. Arthm-, poor 
fellow, has written daily, and from his ac- 
count, has done so badly in the schools, failed 
so completely, and made such a fool of him- 
self at his examination, that instead of a 
' double first,' he expects to be plucked. Will 
you believe it, that insane girl, that romantic 
child, that genuine chip of the old block — 


excuse the vulgarism — that thorough -bred 
Fanshawe — that colonel over again — told nie 
yesterday, that if he was plucked, she would 
marry him at once and go to Australia witli 
him — she has £5000 of her own. And so 
she would, and I might break my heart, ])o- 
sides losing the interest of that money ; I 
couldn't prevent it. But a kind Providence 
has interposed. On leaving the schools the 
last day of his viva voce, he fell doAvn in a tit. 
Constance and his brother Gerard were at the 
telegraph office, to send him a message of com- 
fort in case of failure, when, lo ! came a message 
to Gerard from some tutor, to summon him 
down directly. ' His brother dying !' Apo- 
plexy, I presume, or heart, no matter whicli 
— no hope. My romantic child, as there was 
no train for an hour, rushes home to persuade 
me to go with her. Had the express been on 
the point of starting, she would have been 
off. She, eighteen, with Gerard, a young 
fellow in the Guards, just two and twenty ! 


Iier character would have been i-uined. Sir 
(leoffrey Bullion would have been off at once. 
Arthur Willougliby, of course, is dead by this 
time ; and I should have been destroyed by 
my own child. Her little fortune does not 
even revert to me. You see the state of her 
mind by that of her dress, and if I say a 
^^ ord she bursts into tears. Gerard should 
7iot have told her the message ; but people 
are so unfeeling !' Poor Gerard ! his white 
cheeks and lips, his tearful eyes, and trem- 
l)ling frame, might have saved him from that 
accusation. ' And as with the father, so with 
the daughter, I am the sacrifice ;' and the 
lady consoled herself with a globule the size of 
a minikin pin's head. ' I have no influence 
with her: in all this agitation, she has re- 
fused to take one globule, or to see Dr. Van- 
hummbuggstein. Her father just the same, I 
never could persuade him, and yet my feelings 
are far more acute than theirs ; only, through 
homcEopathy and Vanhummbuggstein, I am 


enabled to keep them under and do my duty ! 
But here we are. Now just look at Con- 
stance. I believe she is going mad.' I 
could not exactly see this, but of course did 
not say so. 

"The train was arrived — the nondescript 
in the great coat issued from the waiting- 
room, and shuffled into a corner, glancing 
angrily at Gerard, and even at the guard. We 
got into the carriage, and soon found ourselves 
all seated just as we were before this stoppage. 
How deeply now I felt for poor Constance 
Fanshawe and Gerard Willoughby. As we 
approached Oxford, the former seemed about 
to faint, and tears gushed from the eyes of 
the other. Mrs. Tanshawe settled her shawl, 
her ruffles, put up her travelling bottle, her 
pill-box, after taking another globule, and her 
bonhonniere, and got neatly ready to leave the 

" As soon as it stopped Gerard darted out. 

" ' What ! is he going to leave us to shift 


for ourselves ?' said Mrs. Fansliawe, in a cry- 
ing voice. ' Ci-uel, heartless fellow : how I 
wish I hadn't come at all !' 

" ' Oh no, mamma/ said Constance, ghastly 
pale, and shaking violently with the ague of 
the heart, ' he sees a young man in a cap and 
gown — he is gone to ask him if he knows 
aught of Arthur. I can see them — they 
speak — Gerard smiles. Oh God ! oh God ! 
He cannot be dead ! Gerard would not smile 
if he were not better. Father of Mercies, I 
thank thee !' 

" So spake the poor girl, quite regardless 
of her fellow-travellers, who now stood round 
her on the platform, and who, sooth to say, 
were (her mother only excepted) almost as 
much agitated as herself. 

" Gerard Willoughby came up. ' He is a 
little better ; the doctors have so7ne hope. 
Cheer up, Constance ! all will yet be well. 
I have just seen Conway, of Christchurch, 
who inquired how Arthur was an hour ago. 


Do you hear, dear Constance ?' But Con- 
stance cannot hear — the joy, the hope, the 
re-action were too great, she had fainted. 

" We got her into the ladies' waiting-room, 
and though her swoon was long and deep, 
she recovered, and was eager to proceed. 
Gerard was gone — of course his brother was 
his first object. 

"Mrs. Fanshawe rather objected to going 
straight to the college (Merton). Constance 
insisted on it. I agreed to go with them, 
and the mamma gave in. We heard that he 
had rallied most suddenly ; that the doctors 
(then in consultation) had the liveliest hopes 
of his ultimate recovery ; but that any excite- 
ment was considered so dangerous that even 
his brother was not allowed to show himself. 
Gerard promised to call in the evening at the 
* Angel' with the latest bulletin ; and this was 
all the comfort poor Constance could obtain. 

"We drove to the 'Angel.' The mother 
and daughter hastened to a room, in which 


T thought it best to leave them for a time ; 
and I requested to be shown into a sitting- 

" As I entered a large pleasant room (the 
waiter having told me it must suffice for me 
and the other ladies) with a fire, welcome as 
the evening was chilly, and wax lights burn- 
ing on the mantel-piece and the table, the 
strange figure in the hat, spectacles, and great- 
coat, issued from an adjoining bed-room, and 
took possession of an arm-chair near the fire. 

" The waiter had withdrawn, and I, un- 
prepared for the presence of one of the unfair 
sex, and thinking it an intrusion, turned, and 
said haughtily — 

*' ' This, sir, is a private sitting-room. I 
may allow the other ladies to share it, as 
the waiter tells me no other can be had ; 
but ' 

" * But why exclude me ?' said the 
stranger, suddenly removing the hat and coat, 
and shaking down at once a profusion of 


grizzled hair over her shoulders, and of skirts, 
tucked up under great-coat, over her trousers 
and boots. 

'' I Avas petrified with amazement, and 
thinking this nondescript must be cracked, I 
approached the bell. 

" ' Fear nothing, my dear young lady,' said 
the stranger, ' I am as sane, as respectable, as 
inoffensive as yourself, but I am obliged by 
circumstances to travel constantly. I have 
no male relative to protect me, and I have 
suffered so severely from every species of 
male persecution, as an ' unprotected female,' 
that I have adopted this deceptive costume, 
to escape the extortion of one class of man- 
kind ;' and, she added with a whimper, ' the 
unwelcome and questionable assiduities of 
another. In my male attire, imperfect as it 
is, and somewhat amphibious, I can travel 
safely from north to south, east to west ; the 
upper class does not insult me with its im- 
proper advances, the lower class does not tor- 


ment me with extortionate demands. Man is 
afraid of the puniest whisper in trousers, and 
mocks and derides the bravest spirit in a pet- 
ticoat. It is in pure self-defence that I have 
adopted this disguise — 

" * For, oh ! to me, alas ! belong 
The fatal gifts of beauty and of song.' ' 

" There was something so hidicrous in this 
delusion of a hideous old maid, sane on 
all points but this, that I could not help 

" Tea and coffee, with substantial, now 
came in. The fire burned brightly. j\liss 
Martinet Avas in herself a comedy, and insisted 
on a chamber-maid to wait, as she had a 
horror of waiters. I think the horror was 

" A dinner-tea, as some call it — ' Un the 
dinereux^ as they say in France — 'Tea and 
table-cloth,' as officers define it, served as it is 
at the ' Angel,' is a very enticing repast, and 


a very sociable one, too. It seems fast super- 
seding a regular dinner, with all travellers 
who are not confirmed gastronomers. Every- 
thing was of the best. The coffee equal to 
any at Paris ; the tea Twining's best Sou- 
chong; mutton cutlets lost in the youngest, 
greenest peas ; strawberries of a fabulous size, 
but undoubted flavour, set off by their dark 
leaves, and enhanced by a bowl of rich cream ; 
toast buttered to perfection ; crusty loaves, 
browm and white ; unrivalled butter ; apri- 
cot marmalade, currant jelly, honeycomb, 
and new^-laid eggs, a discretion. Nothing 
could be more tempting or more liberal than 
this same dinner -tea. 

" Mrs. Fanshawe joined us, and proved 
quite a gourmonde, and poor Constance was 
composed, and at my entreaty took some- 
thing. I saw that Hope, the prophet of the 
young, had whispered comfort to her heart. 

" Miss Martinet, who had taken a great fancy 
to me, begged to be allowed to sleep in a double- 


bedded room with me, but this I positively 
declined. One metamorphosis was enough 
for me. I did not know what the next might 
be. However, to my surprise, in the morn- 
ing, Miss Martinet's yellow face (with the 
projecting teeth) peeped out of the closed cur- 
tains of the second bed, which I had sup- 
posed vacant, and which I had examined 
minutely at night ; and I then found she had 
stolen in after I was asleep, having told the 
chamber-maid she had my consent to do so, 
and having concealed her fatally attractive 
self in a dressing-closet till then. 

" The bulletin was favourable. 

" The next day, better still. 

" On the third, Constance was allowed to 
see her lover. 

" Oh ! how beautiful she was in her exqui- 
site happiness. 

" Blessings, ten thousand blessings, on her 
devoted love — her sublime constancy — her 
woman nature ! 


" Mrs. Faiishawe was very sulky and pro- 
phetic of evil, at which Constance laughed. 
She was installed as head nurse by day, and 
Arthur had been out in a chair. 

'' Before I left Oxford, the class IvaI was 
out. Arthur, in spite of his own misgivings, 
had taken ' a double first' The young people 
were to be married as soon as he was quite 
restored to health, and even Mrs. Eanshawe 
smiled upon ' the Bride Elect.' " 

All the time Lucy was reading, ^Ir. Grin- 
lay Snarl never said a word. He kept his 
eyes fixed on the poor girl, whose colour 
deepened and whose heart sank as she read 
on, and on, and on, without one word of en- 
couragement or approbation. 

She felt very much inclined to throw down 
her MS. and burst out crying, and what she 
had thought very good as she wrote it, slu; 
now, in this trying and ominous silence, began 
to consider poor, flat, and very common-place. 
Mrs. Blair threw in a laugh and a few excla- 


mations of pleasure here and there, which 
were immediately hushed or growled down by 
the Fadladeen in the rocking-chair. 

When Lucy had quite finished, and her 
soft flute-like voice ceased to vibrate, a long 
silence ensued. Mrs. Blair, who considered 
that everything depended on Mr. Grinlay 
Snarl's opinion as to Lucy's success, felt her 
heart beat very fast and a spasm contract her 
throat, but she was afraid to say a word. 
Lucy bore this cruel discouraging silence as 
long as she could, and then, in spite of all 
her efforts to control herself, she burst into 

" My darling Lucy ! my sweet love !" cried 
Mrs. Blair, rushing to her side. " What is 
the matter ?" 

" My poor girl," said Grinlay Snarl, striding 
towards her, " don't cry ! I cannot bear to 
see a tear on your cheek, child. What is it 
grieves you ?" 

" I think, sir," said Mrs. Blair, '' she fancies 


from your silence that you disapprove of her 

"I disapprove? not I; if I had disapproved, it's 
not by silence I'd have shown it. So far from 
it, Fm both pleased and surprised— and I at 
once accept the article for a railway magazine 
I'm editing. Give it here, ye little simple- 
ton," he said, taking it from Lucy's hand. 
" I'll have it set up to-morrow and we'll see 
how much it'll print into, and you'll be paid 
accordingly. When I see it in print I shall 
make a few alterations and improvements — 
but never cry because I don't praise you, 
child ! If I don't scold, you may think your- 
self very lucky. And now you mustn't be 
idle. What will you write on next ? I want 
a tale that will make two numbers, but it 
must have more story and plot in it than this 
little sketch. I don't care a pin what it's 
about 1'^ 

" Let it be about a pin, then," said Lucy, 
smiling through her tears. *' It was only to 

VOL. in. D 


day that, seeing a fine lady drop a pin, which 
an old beggar woman picked up, I thought 
the ' History of a Pin,' related by itself, 
might be made very amusing." 

" So be it then. And now IVe got so much 
to write and arrange, I must leave you ; — and 
as to-morrow is our busy day, most likely 
you won't see me at all. Don't distress your- 
self ; be sure, if you don't, it's no fault of 
mine. I'll drop in if I can, even if I can't 
stay more than five minutes — and perhaps I 
may bring you a few books to review ; so keep 
up your spirits. Miss Lucy. Work on steadily 
like a good girl, and on Saturday I'll send 
two orders for you and mamma to go to the 

" Cannot you escort us ?" said Mrs. Blair. 

*' No. I dine out on Saturday." 

Then, thought Lucy, it will be a treat in- 
deed, and I shall rejoice to go — but she said 

He rose, took his hat, nodded to Lucy and 


her mother, caught up his great coat, and was 

" What a comfort it is to think he will not 
be here to-morrow," said Lucy. " Oh, mam- 
ma, I never can endure him ; he is becoming 
more and more odious to me every time I see 
him !" 

" Nonsense, my love. Think of the mise- 
ries of your career as a daily governess." 

" I really think authorship under his direc- 
tion is more intolerable," said Lucy. " How 
he stared and scowled at me all the time I 
was reading, and never said one word, thougli 
he must have seen my anxiety and distress." 

" Still, your article is accepted, my preci- 
ous, and it will be in print, and I have always 
heard it is very, very difficult to struggle into 
])rint at all, unless you are very rich, and can 
j)ay enormously to printers and publishers. 
Oh, how delighted I shall be to see that 
pretty talc of yours in print !" 

Lucy felt no elation at the prospect, but 


she would not damp her mother's hopes and 
spirits ; and she sat by the fire, talking cheer- 
fully of Past, Present and Puture, till it was 
time to go to bed. 




Lucy, when she entered the sitting-room on 
the next morning, was very glad to see the 
Times on the breakfast table, and to find her 
advertisement in a very prominent and good 
place, and looking, as she thought, particularly 
attractive. This raised her sinking heart a 

She was resolved, while doing her utmost 
to meet her mother's wishes and her grim 
tyrant-patron's requirements, to make herself 
in some measure independent of one whom 


she felt sure she could not long tolerate. 
Lucy had not complied with Mr. Grinlay 
Snarl's proposal that answers should be ad- 
dressed to the office of the '' Monday Re- 
view," she had desired they might be addressed 
to B. L , to be left till called for, at a quiet 
little post office, close to her present abode ; 
and anxiously hoping some replies would 
await her when she called there, she settled 
down to her new tale — the " History of a Pin, 
related by itself." 

As the idea was her own, and the subject 
interesting to herself, her pen traversed the 
paper rapidly to keep pace with the flow of 
her thoughts; and though every now and, 
then, when she paused to read over, revise, 
and polish up what she had done, her mother's 
pale cheek sent a pang to her heart, and the 
thought of Henry's silence and the ring she 
had regained, swept like a simoom's blast 
over her mind, yet never was the fact better 
proved than in Lucy's case, that the best con- 


solation for the heart's troubles is in the mind's 

It was a day of incessant rain, and to any 
but the active mind, would have been one of 
unbearable ennui. But Mrs. Blair was busy 
with both her webs, and Lucy became intensely 
interested in, and engrossed by, her story. In 
order that she might not be disturbed, Mrs. Blair 
had ordered dinner late, andhad quietly brought 
a glass of wine and some biscuits and placed 
them by her side. Lucy wrote on, on, on, 
till at six o'clock Dinah came in to lay the 

And their simple dinner being ready to be 
put upon the table, Lucy, pale with thought 
and mental labour, intensely tired in body and 
mind (as one always is after hours of thought 
and mental concentration) — slightly bewilder- 
ed too, and scarcely able to come back at a mo- 
ment's notice from romance to reality — pushed 
her hair back from her fine intellectual fore- 
head, and rushed into the inner room to bathe 


her face and hands, smooth her tresses, and 
slip on another dress out of compliment to 
her mother. 

Poor girl ! she enjoyed that modest little 
repast after the labour of the day; and while her 
mother in the arm-chair by the fire took a naj), 
Lucy, as the rain had ceased, put on her bon- 
net and cloak, and slipped down stairs, let 
herself quietly out, and hastened to the post 
office some few doors off, in the hope that 
already some answers might have been sent to 
her advertisement. 

She was not disappointed — there were al- 
ready three letters. 

Address — B. L. 

To be left till called for. 
At Mr. G:s, 
Post O^ce, 

C Street. 

Nor was this to be wondered at, for though 
governesses of all descriptions fill columns 
with their advertisements, few could, Uke Lucv, 


undertake to finish her pupils in music and 
singing, and in Itahan, French and German, 
acquired during a long residence in France, 
Italy, and Germany. 

Lucy put the letters into her pocket, and 
hurried back. As she stood for a minute 
^yiping her wet shoes before knocking at the 
door, she heard Dinah in the area cry out to a 
young man who cleaned the knives, boots and 
plate, " I say, Ben, look out and see if you 
spies Miss Blair's young man a-coming ; it's 
just about his time, and they'll want tea di- 
rectly he comes." 

" I thinks I sees 'un," said Ben ; " my eye, 
what a Guy he be ! a more or'nary elderly 
looking young man I never zeed ; I wonder 
such a nice young lady likes 'un." 

" Likes 'un, she love the very ground he 
tread on," said Dinah. 

"Lauk, there's no accounting for tastes. 
Then you're sartain shure he is her young 


" As sure as that you're mine," said Dinah. 

Lucy felt her cheeks tingle, and an inex- 
pressible sense of shame and annoyance sent 
the tears to her eyes, but glancing towards the 
Strand, she saw the gaunt form of Grinlay 
Snarl approaching with rapid strides, and 
hastily knocking at the door, LuCy rushed up 
stairs and hurried into her bed-room. 

She had scarcely time to light a taper and 
read her three letters before she heard Grinlav 
Snarl's knock at the door, and soon his heavy 
foot was on the stair, and his gruff salutation 
was answered by her mother's gentle and con- 
ciliating accents, while the next moment she 
heard him say, " I want to see Miss Lucy;" 
and her mother coming to fetch her, Lucy 
thrust her letters into her pocket and repaired 
to the sitting-room. 




" I've got all my work done, and here I am 
at your service, Miss Lucy, and ready to hear 
what you've written of your new tale, when 
we've had some tea, and a slice of this cold 
pheasant," he said, taking one wrapped up in 
a sheet of the * Monday Review ' from his 

" Lucy has been writing all day long," said 
Mrs. Blair, " and has, I should think, half 
finished the tale, and I have quite completed 
the comforter I have been making for you." 


" Well, I'm glad you're both so industrious ; 
talent and industry, Mrs. Blair, don't often go 
together ; but when they do, success is pretty 
nearly certain. Now then, here's the breast 
of this fine fellow between you and Miss Lucy, 
and the rest of him I'll soon despatch." 

While engaged in eating or drinking, Grin- 
lay Snarl was silent ; but he was a very rapid 
eater, and when he was done, he expected 
everyone else to be done too. 

Lucy was too much annoyed at his intrusion, 
and at the idea of his being looked upon even by 
Dinah and Ben as her " young man," to do 
more than taste the pheasant, and Mrs. Blair 
took care to be done in time to have the 
tea-things removed as soon as Grinlay Snarl 
had finished his sixth cup, and tenth shce of 
bread-and-butter (cut by Lucy). 

*'And now," said Grinlay Snarl, "before 
I settle to Miss Lucy's tale, I must teU her 
I've brought her two books that she may try 
her hand at reviewing, and as I know she can't 


bear (as yet at any rate) to slash away, Tve 
chosen two that really deserve a good deal of 
praise ; one is a little 'Handbook of Etiquette/ 
and it's written with so much good taste ,good 
feeling, and tact, that though I've a great pre- 
judice against etiquette in itself, and books 
that treat of it, yet I cannot but approve of 
this. There's a great deal of the liberty- 
loving Yankee in me," continued Grinlay 
Snarl, rocking himself in the American chair, "I 
should like, if I didn't think it would seem too 
free and easy to you and mamma there, to sit like 
our brother Jonathan with my feet on the man- 
tel-piece. I should like not to be obhged to bow 
to people I don't respect, nor be compelled to 
enquire with mock solicitude about the health 
of those whose very death would not affect me 
at all. Like Lord Byron, I grudge an ugly 
woman the liver-Aving of a chicken, and don't 
see why I should stand till I'm ready to dro]), 
in order that some pert nobody in petticoats 
may sit and stare at me — I hate the back seat 


in a carriage or a private box, and detest the 
principle that 

•* When a lady's in the case, 
All other things of course give place," 

but yet I own there are many little hints in 
this small volume that even I feel I can profit 
by — particularly," and he looked at Lucy with 
an expression in his green eyes that converted 
his spectacles into burning glasses, and made 
her turn first red and then pale, " particularly 
in the very interesting and admirably written 
parts, Miss Lucy, that treat of the Etiquette 
of Courtship and Matrimony/' 

" But," said Lucy, taking the little book into 
her hand and reading a few paragraphs here 
and there, "though I own that this little 
work seems to supply a great desideratum, and 
to be full of really useful and practicable 
hints, I have not the least idea how to set 
about reviewing it." 

"Haven't you? then listen, and 111 tell 
you. In a general way we (by loe I mean the 


critics) don't look much further than the 
names of the book, the author, and the pub- 
hsher, before we decide whether we will cut 
it up or cry it down !'* 

" Oh, but," said Lucy; "that seems to me 
to be both cruel and unjust." 

" It cuts both Avays, Miss Lucy ! there is as 
much party spirit in literature as in politics, 
and quite as exclusive a clique on both sides ; 
woe then to the poor author who has interest 
with neither of these cliques, his is very up-hill 
work indeed, and as what We cry down the 
' Lispector,' or the 'Liquisitor,' or the 'Hornet,' 
is sure to cry up, and vice versa, the authors 
get both bane and antidote at once." 

'* But," said Lucy, " if the work is a bad 
work, and you praise it, how can you support 
your opinion by extracts ?" 

" We are not bound to give extracts, but 
even if we do, there arc few books so good 
that some very weak, silly part cannot be 
picked out for a purpose, or so bad that we 


cannot extract something at least tolerable, 
which, preceded by high praise, printed in 
italics, pointed up, and followed by notes of 
admiration, is thought very fine indeed by the 
generality of readers, who take our opinion 
on credit, and never form one themselves.'" 

" Still,'' said Lucy, " when you review a 
novel and give an abstract of the story, you 
cannot do it without reading a good deal of 
the tale." 

" Headings to the chapters are a great help 
to the reviewer in that respect," replied Grinlay 
Snarl, " and those authors who neglect to put 
' headings ' and use mottoes in verse, in the old 
fashion, must take the consequences, and be 
often misconceived ; but a few pages at the 
beginning of the book, and a peep at the 
catastrophe (if the headings are judicious), are 
quite enough for a practised reviewer." 

" Ah," said Lucy, '' that may be the way 
experienced critics, who are often, indeed, I 
hear, generally, disappointed authors, set to 


work, but this can only come with disappoint- 
ment, which sharpens maHce, and time, which 
bkuits the dishke to give pain, and renders 
the conscience callous to the sense of literary 

"Bravo!" said Grinlay; "she'll do, Mrs. 
Blair, she's got it in her, she'll give it 'em well 
in time, and, en attendant, let me tell you, 
Miss Lucy, an honest, impartial review, from 
a clever young writer, with a sound judgment 
and a kind heart, comes in very well occa- 
sionally ; and you may say just what you think 
about this little Hand-book of Etiquette, 
and this poem called ' Lucile,' by Owen 
Meredith. I have chosen them out of piles 
and piles of works, sent to the office for re- 
viewing, because we are not as a party or a 
clique bound to attqck cither the authors or 
jmblishcrs of these icorks, and have no reason 
for cutting up their hooks ; then I know, too, 
how you would shrink from severity of criti- 
cism, most beginners do (like young surgeons 

VOL. in. K 


who faint at a first incision, but cut you up 
neatly without wincing after a time), and I 
really think an unprejudiced critic, who 
wishes to be just, can give the highest praise 
to John Cassell's little Hand-book of Etiquette, 
and for the small sum of one shilling, make 
sure of not committing any blunders in his 
intercourse with society ; while, on the other 
hand, I have no doubt so enthusiastic an ad- 
mirer of the poet's father as Miss Lucy is, will 
find it a labour of love to do justice to the 
son, and to prove that genius is hereditary, in 
a review of Lucile." 

" Will you," said Lucy, " give me some 
little idea of the form in which these things 
are done?" 

" Simply thus ; you take up this little book, 
and you say, ' The Hanci^-hook of Etiquette! 
Cassell, Petter, and Galpin,\ 0, La Belle Sauvage 
Yard; and then I give jow. carte blanche io^?iy 
what I am sure you will think of the little work 
in question. I know you will see how com- 


pletely Christian principle is the basis of the 
author's fabric ; how good feeling and good 
taste united give birth to tact ; how in true 
politeness, idle ceremony and futile affectation 
yield to simplicity of manners and kind- 
ness of heart, and how many useful hints are 
collected, mooted points decided, and knotted 
ones unravelled. Why, to many people it's 
worth ten times the price of the book to know 
exactly how to address noblemen, great people 
in office, and persons in different ranks of so- 
ciety, and to feel certain as to what is comme 
il faut with regard to visiting, &c. In sliort, 
I think you may say that there is no one, from 
the Peer to the Peasant, who may not learn 
something from this little volume, and that it 
should not only find its way into every house, 
but into every hand. With regard to Lucile, 
I need not warn you (as I do our * subs ' at 
the office), in a general way to avoid the com- 
mon-places of criticism." 

E 2 



" What do you call common-places ?" asked 

" Such remarks as these : — ' The best j^ioem 
of the season.^ * TFe have read this book 
through with breathless interest, and at a sit- 
ting.' ' We congratulate the public, the author, 
and ourselves. No one can rise from the peru- 
sal of this admirable work without feeling him- 
self a wiser and a better man.' ' We have to 
record the appearance of a new star of the 
first magnitude in the literary firynament' ' This 
poem appeals alike to the head and the heart 
of the reader, and is an evidence of the existence 
of the highest qualities of both in the gifted au- 
thor.' ' Mr, So-and-so will ^o forth like Lord 
Byron after the publication of Childe Harold, 
to find himself famous.' " 

" I have often read such critiques as those," 
said Lucy, " and I quite understand now what 
} ou mean by the common-places of criticism ; 
tliose notices convey no distinctive idea to 
one's mind." 


" Exactly so ; do not fall into tliem." 

" Certainly not ; and now tell me who is 
Owen Meredith ?" said Lucy. 

" Owen Meredith is a nom de plume, or 
de guerre ; it is the same thing, since a life of 
authorship is one of perpetual warfare. The 
young poet's real name is the foremost in mo- 
dern literature, and is in every sense a Right 
Honourable name." 

" Oh, I know," said Lucy, " what name you 
mean. It is associated with some of the greatest 
triumphs in letters and in the Senate, and 
also with some of the kindest deeds of private 
sympathy and benevolence, and the noblest of 
enterprises for the public and national weal." 

" Yes," said Grinlay Snarl, in a surly tone, 
for he was generally rather jealous of all great 
successes, and particularly so of Lucy's en- 
thusiasm about the great genius in question. 
'' Yes, I cannot deny that. The best novel, 
the best drama, and the best orations of the 
age, are associated with that name." 


" And why," said Lucy, " has the young 
poet foregone all its brilliant influence and 
palpable advantages, and adopted an unknown 
and modest alias ?'' 

" Many reasons may be assigned," said 
Grinlay Snarl. 

"And some of them very noble ones, I 
doubt not," cried Lucy ; " perhaps, like Claude 
Melnotte, the author of Lucile wished to sit 
under the laurel his own hands had planted." 

" Perhaps he wished to be indebted for his 
success to no merit but his own," said Snarl. 

" And perhaps," added Lucy, with innate 
modesty, " he feared the comparison the world 
will draw between a father who sits on the 
diamond throne, and a son who seems to 
aspire to one. At any rate, with no reflected 
or refracted glory, no borrowed halo, no sound 
of trumpets and cymbals, no waving of a well- 
known banner, no help from party or clique, 
Owen Meredith has, I know, made a name ; 
for I remember his ' Clytemnestra' and his 


' Wanderer,' and the wild, original beauties, 
which only required a little judicious pruning, 
— and I doubt not that Experience, the best 
handmaid of Genius, has enabled him by de- 
grees to weed the luxuriant garden of his 
mind of all that can mar its beauty and per- 

" Well," said Grinlay Snarl, " in these dull 
days it is something to have made a sensation, 
particularly by a poem ; and yet, Lucile, 
a new, daring, and singular conception, a 
romantic, philosophical, sentimental, serio- 
comical, historical, tragical poem in twelve 
cantos — a French, English, German novel 
in rhyme — has, in this unpoetical age of 
steam, iron, and matter-of-fact, noiselessly 
stolen into public favour, and though some 
hardly know whether they like it or not, and 
others like it they scarce know why, yet 
Lucile's triumph is unfait accompli, it is un 
grand succesl I remember that sweet poet, 
fine critic, and amiable man, Major Calder 


Campbell, saying after he had read this young 
poet's first volume, ' I prophesy a bright fame- 
star for Owen Meredith.' The voice of the 
prophet has not long been hushed, but the 
fame-star is already bright in the heavens." 

" But," said Lucy, " how am I to write a 
critique of a work so singular and of such a 
scope, as, from your account of it, this poem 
must be ? How can I do it justice ?" 
" You cannot do it justice," said Snarl, 
" No critic," said Lucy, '' can do justice 
to a work of genius ; as there is always in 
the face of Beauty something no painter can 
render, so in a work of genius (a poem, espe- 
cially) there is a glow, a vitality, a charm, 
no criticism can do justice to. It is the divine 
particle, both in the face and the poem, that 
cannot be conveyed to the Many, nor felt but 
by the Few." 

" Well," said Grinlay Snarl, " I own that ; 
but to those Few (and I think you are one of 
them) there are passages and scenes in Lucile 


that awaken that sort of indefinable, almost 
painful ecstasy that we feel when we gaze at 
Mont Blanc rosy in the dawn or silvered by 
the moon, and that we felt w^hen Jenny Lind's 
voice was in its prime. Certain passages 
in Milton, Shakespeare, Byron, Scott, and 
Bulwer Lytton inspire it ! We feel it in 
Charles Kean's Hamlet, and in gazing at 
some of the old painters' Madonnas, or at 
Bailey's Eve ; at a chef-d'oeuvre by Claude, by 
Turner, or by Sir Edwin Landseer; Shake- 
speare translates the feeling when he makes 
Othello say of the beauty of Desdemona, 
' that the sense ached at it ;' 'to die of a rose 
in aromatic pain', is not so absurd a conceit 
as some imagine." 

"Do you know Owen Meredith?" asked 
Lucy, interested at the revelation of so nuich 
unsuspected enthusiasm in the case-hardened 

'' No, but I have seen him, and I know 
some of his intimate friends — he's very young. 


I only know what all the world knows of 
him — how well he performed a divided duty. 
For while love, gratitude, habit, and a sense of 
great, august, and God-like justice made him 
cling to his father, and feel the deep wrongs 
of one so truly great and justly dear to him, 
pity, and a chivalrous sense of vrhsit was due 
to woman in her self-inflicted distress and 
isolation, made him sacrifice largely in the 
endeavour to comfort and alleviate. The 
public on that occasion appreciated the gene- 
rous impulse of the son and the sacrifice of 
self in the cause of duty." 

'' Ah, I remember that. How few people 
of genius are happy in married life," said 

" How few people of any kind, either mar- 
ried or single," said Grinlay Snarl. 

" But surely the wedded life of men of 
genius, from Milton downwards, has generally 
been very tempestuous." 

" Not more so, perhaps, than that of ordi- 


nary mortals, Miss Lucy," said Grinlay Snarl, 
" only the world's eye and tongue are ever 
busy with the private history of kings, whe- 
ther they are nionarchs of petty earthly do- 
minions or of the boundless realms of thought. 
This is one of the penalties genius must pay 
for its renown. Directly a man is famous he 
has no privacy, and so it was in the case you 
allude to, and in another which set the whole 
world talking a little later." 

" But of that with which our young poet 
was connected, nothing remains on the public 
mind but an impression greatly in his fa- 
vour. I know he is very young," said Lucy ; 
" but excuse a woman's question — is he 
handsome, and, above all, is he like his 
father ?" 

" Yes ; he has every now and then a look 
that reminds one of his father, and in both 
father and son there is a great deal of Pel- 
ham, such outward calm and smouldering 
fire, the volcano beneath the green sward. 


Then he has his father's inspired look and 
distinguished air ; yes, a good deal of it, and, 
as I said before, he reminds me, as his father 
always does, of Pelham. You remember 
Pelham, the sybarite (I had almost said 
the coxcomb), who seemed as if the 
crumpling of the rose-leaf would disturb 
his repose, and yet hoAv in one moment the 
native courage and energy of the man tri- 
umphed over the acquired fatuity and non- 
clialance of the exquisite, and the fiery horse 
was damped by his hand ; so Owen Meredith 
has taken the world by surprise by the man- 
ner in which he manages that fiery Pegasus 
of his, who seems every now and then on the 
point of running away with him. At one 
time I had great fears, for I thought his 
genius would be spoiled by bad models and a 
dead school ; but I heard him speak of Milton 
as his beau-ideal, and I know that no young 
poet who makes Milton his polar star, can 
wander far out of the bright path to fame. 


The beautiful dedication of 'Lucile' coming 
from the heart, goes straight to it ; and as 
a master-piece of the eloquence of feeling, and 
an evidence of the truth that there are ' words 
which are things,' does equal honour to the 
father who inspired and the son who felt so 
sublime an affection. Listen, for instance, to 
this sentence, — indeed, you had better quote 
it, — it combines the eloquence of Addison and 
the terseness of Johnson — 

a i ^\qyq is a moment of profound discou- 
ragement which succeeds to prolonged effort ; 
when the labour which has become a habit 
having ceased, we miss the sustaining sense 
of its companionship, and stand with a feel- 
ing of strangeness and embarrassment before 
the abrupt and naked result 

'' ' And in this moment of discouragement 
my heart instinctively turns to you, from 
whom it has so often sought, from whom it 
has never failed to receive support. I do not 
inscribe to you this book, because it contains 


anything that is worthy of the beloved and 
honoured name with which I thus seek to 
associate it; nor yet because I would avail 
myself of a vulgar pretext to display in public 
an affection that is best honoured by the 
silence which it renders sacred. Feelings 
only such as those with which, in days when 
there existed for me no critic less gentle 
than yourself, I brought to you my childish 
manuscripts, feelings such as those which have 
in later years associated with your heart all 
that has moved or occupied my own, lead me 
once more to seek assurance from the grasp of 
that hand which has hitherto been my guide 
and comfort through the life 1 owe to you. 
And as in childhood, Avlien existence had no 
toil beyond the day's simple lesson, no ambi- 
tion beyond the neighbouring approval of the 
night, I brought to you the morning's task 
for the evening's sanction, so now I bring 
to you this self-appointed task-work of ma- 
turer years, less confident, indeed, of your 


approval, hut not less confident of your Jove, 
and anxious only to realize your presence 
between myself and the public, and to min- 
gle with those severer voices to whose final 
sentence I submit my work, the beloved 
and gracious accents of your own. 

" ' Owen Meredith.' " 

As Grinlay Snarl read the last paragraph, 
his voice grew husky, and there were tears 
in his eyes. Lucy had been weeping silently 
for some time, but she was young, full 
of sympathy and sentiment, and easily 
moved, but the old critic's emotion surprised 

" What," said she to herself, '' if I have 
mistaken this man, if, instead of a selfisli, 
egotistical, tyrannical boaster, he is a man of 
taste and feeling. Rough, rude, ugly, and 
disagreeable as he is, he may have a tender 
heart ; and if he loves me, as I often fear \w. 
docs, how painful it will be to tram[)le on ji 


true and noble love ; yet to love him in re- 
turn, even were I free, were impossible. 
Alas ! I fear .... but no, sufficient unto 
the day is the evil thereof. I will not anti- 
cipate so great a trial." 

" How I wish you would write this critique 
yourself," said Lucy. " I had ho idea that 
you could admire anything so intensely." 

"Well, the Nil admirari is the motto of 
the age, and I try to make it mine ; but what 
few things I do admire, I admire with pas- 
sion ;" and he shot a glance out of his green 
eyes at Lucy, which made her shudder. " And 
now I entrust these two critiques to you. 
Miss Lucy. Give us an abstract and extracts 
of each, and let me see that I have not over- 
rated your powers. You will see that ' Lu- 
cile' — though one would expect her, as the 
Comtesse de Nevers, to turn out anything but 
a selfish coquette — is, in reality, meant to 
show us ' how divine a thing a woman can be 
made,' by sublime, self-sacrificing, devoted love. 


Give plenty of extracts. For the playful take 
such as this : — 

" 'cooks. 

We may live without poetry, music, and art ; 
We may live without conscience, and live without heart ; 
We may live without friends, we may live without books,' 
But civilised man cannot live without cooks. 

He may live without books — what is knowledge but 

grieving ? 
He may live without hope — what is hope but deceiving ? 
He may live without love — what is passion but pining ? 
But where is the man that can live without dining?' 

" Then, again, for a pretty little vignctte- 
like description of a mountain home, what do 
you think of this ? — 


One lodges but simply at Serchon, yet thanks 

To the season that changes for ever the haunts 

Of the blossoming mountain, and shifts the liglit cloud 

O'er the valley, and hushes and rouses the loud 

Wind that wails in the pines, or creeps murmuring down 

The (lark evergreen slopes, to the slumbering town ; 

And. the torrent that falls, faintly heard from afar, 

And the blue-bells that purple the dapple-grey .scu^/r. 



One sees vtitli each month of the many-faced year 
A thousand sweet changes of beauty appear.' 

" A glowing description of female beauty 

is a poet's delight, and let us listen to this : — 

*' ' The Lady in truth 
Was young, fair, and gentle ; and never was given 
To more heavenly eyes the pure azure of heaven ; 
Never yet did the sun touch to ripples of gold, 
Tresses brighter than those which her soft hand un- 
From her noble and innocent brow, when she rose 
An Aurora at dawn from her balmy repose, 
And into the mirror the bloom and the blush 
Of her beauty broke glowing like light in a gush 
From the sunrise in summer. 

Love roaming shall meet 
But rarely a nature more sound or more sweet, 
Eyes brighter, brow whiter, a figure more fair. 
Or lovelier lengths of more radiant hair. 
Than thine. Lady Alfred, and here I aver 
(May those that have seen thee declare if I err !), 
That nof all the oysters of Britain contain 
A pearl pure as thou art. 

Let some one explal7i, 
Who may know more thou I of the intimate life 
Of the pearl and the oyster — why yet in his Avife, 
In despite of her beauty, and most when he felt • 
His sonl to the sense of her loveliness melt, 


Lord Alfred miss'd something he sought for — indeed 
The more that he miss'd it, the greater the need. 
Till it seemed to himself he could willingly spare 
All the charms that he found for the one charm not 

'' One extract more I will suggest, Miss 
Lucy," said Grinlay Snarl, " and then, as it is 
getting late, I must beg to hear what you 
have written of your new tale. 

''Lucile in the end, as you will see, be- 
comes a Sister of Charity (La Soeur Sera- 
phine) ; and thus her mission is described : — 

" " The vapours closed round, and he saw her no more : 
Nor shall we, for her mission accomplished is o'er. 
The mission of genius on earth ! To uplift, 
Purify, and confirm, by its own gracious gift. 
The world, in despite of the world's dull endea^ur 
To degrade and drag down and oppose it for ever. 
The mission of genius : to watch and to wait. 
To renew, to redeem, and to regenerate. 
The mission of woman on earth ; to give birth 
To the mercy of heaven descending on earth. 
The mission of ivojnan, permitted to bruise 
The head of the serpent, and sweetly infuse, 
Through the sorrow and sin of earth! s registered 

The blessing which mitigates all ; born to nurse, 

V '^ 


And to soothe and to solace, to help and to heal 
The sick world that leans on her. This was Liicile !' " 

" Oh, I wish you wouhl go on," said Lucy, 
"and let me postpone the reading of my 
stupid story." 

" Nonsense, Lucy !" cried Mrs. Blair, who 
was very old-fashioned in her notions of poetry, 
and liked nothing of modern innovation, or 
that had not the cadence and rhythm of 
Pope. *' I dare say that is very fine, but it is 
not very pleasing to my ear." 

" Oh, mamma, it is Love and Wisdom made 
musical !" 

" I know what Mrs. Blair means," said 
Grinlay Snarl. " She objects to the lines 
running into each other, and I think this 
habit, introduced by Byron, is carried to ex- 
cess by Owen Meredith. It makes his poetry 
very difficult to read aloud ; and much as I 
really admire and wish you to praise ' Lu- 
cile,' I will not disguise from you the fact that 
were I so disposed, I could stretch the young 


poet on the rack. He lias not only in- 
dulged in countless poetical licenses, but in 
a vast number of very unpoetical ones. The 
liberty he takes with the surname of his he- 
roine, Madame de Nevers, in rhyming it to 
what it spells in English, is unpardonable ; and 
though he has tried to excuse it in a foot-note 
in rhyme, I cannot forgive it. Then, too, he 
is occasionally too colloquial; even for the novel 
in rhyme, carried too far, it borders on dog- 
gerel; while, on the other hand, his metaphysics 
savour of Kant, I mean no pun, and are tran- 
scendental. Oh, I could cut him up finely !" 

" And so one could ' Paradise Lost,' or 
* Childe Harold,' " said Lucy. " The sun has 
specks.' " 

" Therefore," replied Grinlay Snarl, " amid 
so much bright, original, enthralling beauty, 
we will not dwell on a few defects ; La Valli^rc 
limped, yet Louis XIV. adored her; Anne 
Boleyn had a deformed nail, yet the eighth 
Heniy married her. Still, don't be afraid to 


point out any defects that strike you. A review 
that is all praise is like a dinner of nothing but 
sweet dishes ; don't spare the cayenne and the 
lemon, Miss Lucy. And now for the ' History 
of the Pin ;' " and he settled himself into the 
Fadladeen, while Lucy read the first part 
of her " History of a Pin, related by itself." 




"I AM a member of a very numerous fa- 
mily. I have had to make my own way in 
the world, and, luckily, in my composition 
were all the elements of success. Plenty of 
hrass by way of a substratum, a shining and 
silvery exterior, a good heady and as ioY point, 
no wit of any age could compare with me, 
from Rochester of the seventeenth century to 
Tom Taylor of the nineteentli. 

" It was in busy Sheffield I first saw tlu^ 
light ; no pains were spared to make im' wor- 


thy my high destiny, for a high destiny did 
await me. 

" I was one of a select and highly-finished 
band of shining brothers destined to form a 
part (a humble but a necessary part) of the 
bridal trousseau of that fair royal maiden who, 
on the death of AVilliam the Fourth, became 

'Queen of the Isles and Empress of the ocean;' 

and, prouder title still, 

* Queen of the Free.' 

" No pains were spared to polish and to 
perfect me. 

"Every pretty little pin-maker concerned 
in my manufacture knew she Avas working not 
merely for a bride, but for a royal bride. 

" The pale, deHcate factory-girls all sympa- 
thised with one who (a girl herself, although 
a Queen) had bravely resolved to follow the 
dictates of her own woman-heart, and ' marry 
for love ;' and many a murmured ' God bless 
her ' did that thought call forth. 


" How Lily Meeke, as she worked with her 
thin, white fingers at my head, and those of 
ray bright brothers, sighed, as she said to 
Rose Merry, her confidante, 'Oh, how de- 
hghtful, Rose, to be a Queen ! a fair, young 
Queen, to have nothing to do but to love, 
and to be able to raise the man she loves, by 
giving him her little hand, and thus to make 
him the envy of every prince in Europe !' 

" Poor Lily ! Lily was a perfect beauty — 
a Grecian beauty — tall, slender, with the 
whitest skin, the bluest eyes, and the most 
luxuriant golden hair in the world. She only 
wanted fresh air, liberty, repose, and a little 
happiness, or rather peace of mind, to make 
her perfect, for then the rose would have re- 
turned to her cheek, the ruby to her lip, and 
the roundness to a form which now looked as 
if you could blow it away. 

'' Poor Lily ! a year before the date of my 
l)irth, or rather creation (in spite of hard 
Avork, and long days of dreary, monotonous 


toil), she was plump and blooming enough ; 
but at the time of which I speak she was un- 
happy, for she loved, and loved without hope. 

" Yes, she loved young Phipson, eldest son 
of Sir Croesus Phipson, the great pin-maker ! 

" He once chanced to see Lily in the fields, 
whither, on a half-hohday, she had repaired 
with Rose to gather flowers, 

" ' Herself a fairer flower.' 

" He had his dog with him — a water spa- 
niel — and the dog had been in the brook ; 
and when he came out (imitating his master 
in taking a fancy to the smiling face of Lily, 
who, with Rose, was seated by the brook), he 
had sprung with his wet and rather muddy 
paws into her lap, and spoiled the bright pink 
cambric muslin dress (vain, foolish girl \), with 
three flounces, at which she had worked 
at night after her hard day's toil, and in 
which she looked so pretty that everybody she 
had passed had turned to admire her sweet 


face and lovely figure. She might, indeed, 
have said with Lisette — 

" *Qui n'eut etc comme moi, 

Touchee de ce double suffrage, 
Car la taille etait bien k moi, 
Et la Robe etait mon ouvrage.' 

And lo ! the pretty pink batiste was spoilt, 
quite spoilt. 

" It would not wash — Lily knew that when 
she bought it ; but no fair of May-fair is more 
improvident than the fair of the factory. 

" Well, to make a long story short (for all 
I know I gathered from the chit-chat of the 
young pin-makers, to whom I owed the very 
head that enabled me to understand them), 
Lily had tears in her violet eyes, and a sob in 
her white throat ; but she did not strike the 
dog, nor even scold him ; no vulgar expletive 
escaped those rosy lips, to destroy (as such 
things do) all the illusions with which such 
beauty fills the heart of dreaming, passionate, 
early manhood. 


" Lily, though a factory -girl, was one of 
nature's gentlewomen. There was an instinctive 
courtesy, an innate grace about Lily. 

" She smiled through her tears as young 
Phipson approached to apologise, bewail, and 
beat off Diver. 

" Young Phipson was frank, pleasant, affa- 
ble ; he sat down by the two pretty girls on 
the grassy bank. He soon put them at their 
ease, for there was nothing foppish or imper- 
tinent in his manner. An hour passed by, 
and they were still chatting, unaware that 
from behind a neighbouring hedge Mark Mil- 
lar, a young man employed in the very factory 
in which Rose and Lily worked, was watching 
them with the lurid fire in his eyes, the ashy 
paleness on his cheek, and the choking spasm 
at his throat, which announce the deadly 
passion of jealousy. 

" Mark Millar loved Lily Meeke, but though 
far above her in circumstances, and able to 
offer her a home, and a ' maid ' to wait upon 


her, instead of a factory-girl's grinding toil, 
Lily would not listen to him. 

" He was a sickly creature, with weak 
limbs and strong passions, lame, stunted, a 
good deal scarred by a disease common 
where the air is impure and the childhood 
neglected, but he had worked his way up 
from the lowest pay and the meanest toil in 
the factory to high office and high wages. 
Mark Millar was now in the receipt of an 
increasing salary of two hundred a year. He 
had never actually offered marriage to Lily 
Meeke (an orphan of seventeen, brought up 
by her grandmother, and with no other rela- 
tive in the ' wide \\^de world '), but he had 
paid her all the attentions that lead to such an 
event, and had made Lily an object of envy 
and hate to all the mean and envious spirits 
which abound in the moiling factory^, as in 
Vanity Fair. 

" If Mark Millar had ever had any doubts 
about his sentiments and intentions towards 
poor Tiilv before, he had none now. 


" He would propose to her at once. He 
knew young Phipson, who was at home from 
Oxford for the long vacation, was clever, 
amiable, noble-hearted, gallant, manly, and 
superbly handsome, both in face and form. 

" It would be very easy for him to win the 
simple heart of Lily Meeke ; but Lily was a 
good girl, and once betrothed or married to 
Mark, he was certain she would be true as 
steel; and, indeed, he felt almost sure that 
young Phipson, who was no gay seducer, but 
a thoroughly good fellow, would not try to 
Avin a pledged or wedded heart. And so 
Mark Millar watched and Avaited, watched 
and waited, and still young Phipson sat on 
the fresh grass by the clear brook, talking 
gaily to both the girls, but thinking only of 
sweet Lily Meeke. 

" At length across the daisied meads the 
spring breeze wafted the chimes of many 
church clocks striking four, and young Phip- 
son started to his feet, for at four o'clock he 


had promised to drive his proud, fond mother, 
Lady Phipson, in his bran-new phaeton. 

" He was a good son ; and she, though a 
doting mother, was a very exacting one, and 
he must run with all speed home to the 

" He shook hands with Lily, nodded to 
Rose, and was gone. Diver racing after him 
in a tiunult of noisy joy. Lily Meeke was 
in a tumult too, but hers was a very quiet 

" Rose was full of merry sallies, praise of 
young Phipson, and prophecies of future 
grandeur for the silent Lily. 

" What a change an hour, nay, a moment, 
may work in the feelings of a life, the history 
of a heart, or rather two hearts, though we 
may in this case say three, for poor Mark 
Millar's doom is sealed as surely as is Lily 
Meeke's and Eugene Phip son's. 

" Lily and Eugene have fallen desperately 
in love with each other; and poor Mark 


Millar, who adores Lily Meeke ! what hence- 
forth is this world to him but an arid waste ? 
what is life become to him but a sunless sea ? 

" Poor Mark ! he is little aware of the ter- 
rible change (terrible for him) that one hour 
has wrought ! 

" Perhaps before this — to him' fatal — day, 
had he come forward and proposed to Lily, 
as his heart had so often prompted him to do, 
while his head (less really wise) dissuaded him, 
she might then have been his, and have been 
fenced by new duties and all the virtues from 
every temptation. 

"For Lily, fancy-free and heart-whole, 
might not have been insensible to so much 
love and the great advantages of this offer. 
Old Dame Meeke, her grandmother, would, 
of course, have advocated Mark Millar's 
cause, and dutiful Lily had never disobeyed 
or disregarded that more than mother. There 
was no actual barrier to Mark's desires before 
that fatal half-holiday ; now there is Love — 


iirst love — a giant at its birth, and growing 
with each moment either of Eugene's dan- 
gerous presence or more dangerous absence. 
For how dangerous the absence of the heart's 
idol in that first sweet dawn of passion, when 
every moment of solitude is crowded with de- 
licious memories and entrancing hopes, let 
those who have loved confess ! 

" But of the birth of this giant Mark 
knew not. He feared young Phipson might 
captivate that gentle heart with time and op- 
portunity : he had forgotten that 

'The first sweet moment is an age in love.' 

He joined the two factory-girls ; he took the 
seat young Phipson had vacated, little think- 
ing how ruinous to his hopes was the com- 
parison the girl's heart was drawing between 
the tall, manly form — classic, noble head and 
face, and proud yet gentle bearing, of the young 
Oxonian. Fatal to poor Mark was even the 
contrast between his thin, straight, dull hair, 



and the thick clusters of sunny brown that 
adorned the Antmous head and high white 
brow of Eugene Phipson ; fatal too, Mark's ra- 
ther red, useful hands, with their broken nails 
and clumsy joints, contrasted with the white, 
carefully-kept hand, the almond nails, the 
diamond ring, the cambric wristband with its 
coral studs; more fatal still the ill-fitting, ready- 
made suit of holiday black, compared with the 
coat from Stulz, the trowsers from Poole, the 
waistcoat from Storey ; and most fatal of all, 
the thick, clumsy, mended high-low of Mark 
Millar, compared with the small, graceful, 
highly ornamented patent " Balmorals " of Eu- 
gene. Mark Millar thought Lily looked very 
pale, and Avas unusually silent, but she said 
she had a head-ache, and summoned Rose to 
come home to an early tea. 

" Mark rose to escort them. He was rni- 
usually sheepish, and stammered a good deal ; 
l)ut he always spoke with difficulty, so Lily 
did not attach much importance to h^s 


manner. As tliey got near Sheffield and 
turned into the high road, just as Mark had 
sprung across a ditch by the way-side to 
gather Lily a branch of May of nutty fra- 
grance and snowy blossoms, an elegant 
phaeton dashed by. The ' whip' was Eugene, 
the lady by his side his purse-proud, haughty 

" He raised his hat to Lily as politely as if 
she had been the lady she looked. Mark saw 
his graceful bow, and her 

' Orient blush of quick surprise,' 

and little, hurried bend. 

" He saw Lady Phipson glare through her 
eye-glass at her son's strange acquaintance, 
and Mark grew very pale and felt very sick. 

" That evening, while Rose ran home to 
get a book, Mark proposed to Lily, and was 
refused with much kindness and many tears, 
but without being allowed one ray of hope to 
brighten the despair of his heart. The next 

G 2 


day came a pretty pink dress for Lily, with a 
note saying it was Eugene Phipson's offering 
to make up for what Diver had done. It 
was very like what Lily had worn, only, in- 
stead of a flimsv imitation, it was a beautiful 
French pihk cambric {batiste), ' fast colours,' 
and with three broad flounces, worked in 
white. Lily consulted Rose, who advised her 
to accept it, and make it up to wear on Sun- 
day. She did so, and by the same brook 
again met Eugene. 

" It w^as soon after this that I came into 
existence. Before I left Sheffield for Buck- 
ingham Palace, Lady Phipson had discovered 
her son's passion, and had called on Lily to up- 
braid and insult her ; Eugene was sent on a 
continental tour for a whole year, with a 
tutor. Lily was almost broken-hearted. The 
smile had left her eye, the rose her cheek, and 
the ruby her lips ; and Mark was trying every 
device love coidd prompt to win her favour. 

"But Eugene and Lily had exchanged 


TOWS and locks of hair, and broken a ring 
between them. And Lily had a faint hope 
lurking in her heart that some day, when Eu- 
gene was his own master, he would make her 
his wife. Things were in this state when I 
found myself stuck in the bridal pincushion 
of Queen Victoria — God bless her ! My bed 
was covered (like hers) with white satin and 
point lace, and by' that good luck which at 
timesbefalls alike both pins and premiers, found 
myself selected by the fair hand that holds in 
its gentle yet firm grasp the balance of Eu- 
rope, the reins of government, and the mane 
of the British Lion. And on that day of 
days, that 10th of February, I actually, after 
the royal toilet was complete, and the mirror 
reflected the blushes of the queenly bride, 
was by her own fair hand promoted to secure 
a fold above that right royal heart, and I 
know that no simple village maid ever ap- 
proached the altar of a parish churcli witli 
a heart throbbing more wildly with deep 


love and virgin modesty, than did the heart of 
her who on that day seemed at once the 
Queen of England and of beauty too. I am 
not going to expatiate on the glories of that 
auspicious day, or the intense interest with 
which a nation beheld Love on a throne — a 
Royal Love-match. With my head hidden in 
that queenly bosom, I knew more of the 
tuitult there than of that without. But I do 
know that the august bride, in her snowy 
attire, surrounded by beauties arrayed in 
every gorgeous hue and costly fabric, looked 
like a spotless lily in a garden of tulips. Many 
epithalamiums were written upon this hap- 
piest of royal weddings, and one which I 
heard read by a maid of honour as I was 
resting in my satin cushion, struck me as so 
appropriate, that I venture to transcribe it 
here : — 


'Britons! the nuptial festival prepare, 

And twine the orange wreatli for beauty's brow ; 
A royal wedding ! and yet love is there, 
Warm as when village lovers breathe the vow. 


And never happiness has sent its flush 

To cheek of rustic maid, the hamlet's pride, 

With a more roseate, or more tell-tale blush, 
Than decks the cheek of Albert's royal bride. 

Love in her eyes ; and in her virgin heart 

Woman's deep reverence for man's mental sway : 

The Queen is loyal now — she knows her part 
As wife, to love, to honour, and obey. 

And never have those holy words been spoken 
By loveliest lips in such a thrilling tone, 

As if the Queen would make those words a token 
That all her woman's heart is his alone ! 

The bridal veil her graceful form adorning, 
The roseate blushes and the April tears. 

The loving heart all coy disguises scorning, 
The noble trust that smiles at coward fears ; 

The stately beauty of the princely lover, 

Pale with emotion and devoted love. 
The tearful eyes that meet, when hearts brim over, 

And, joined on earth, w'ould yet be joined above ; 

The earnest love that brought those hearts together ; 

The nation's deep devotion to its Queen, — 
All these make each spectator question whether 

Such royal nuptials eye had ever seen. 

Many were beautiful, and brave, and gay. 

But all unmarked tlieir charms; on thrm alone. 

The bride and bridegroom of that heaven-blest day, 
All eyes were fixed, and all God's sunshine shone. 


And tliey are gone ! — yes, gone as man and wife ; "' 
Gone on that journey, whose goal is the graye : 

Theirs all the rapture of Love's wedded life ! 
God save Victoria ! and her Albert saTe !* 

I have said I was ' born to good hick.' And 
so I was ; for in spite of the change of dress 
that caused me to be plucked out from m\ 
proud resting-place close to that fair, happy 
bosom (while others of my mates lay prostrate 
around, suddenly and hopelessly ' out of 
office' at once and for ever), the beautiful 
hand of the queenly bride placed me once 
more in the blonde fcku that veiled the 
lovely bust, and all unconscious of a spy so 
near the very citadel, we all (I mean the 
whole wedding party) repaired to Windsor. 

*' AVhat throngs of loyal and admiring sub- 
jects bade the royal couple adieu in old 
London ! What throngs w^elcomed them to 
Windsor ! 

" How young, and gay, and glad seemed the 
fair bride and her handsome groom, com- 
pared to the old walls hallowed by so many 


associations, and darkened by so many deeds 
of blood. 

" I am no ' boy Jones/ to betray tlie little 
secrets that I could not but know; and 
though the name 'Inigo' would not be inap- 
propriate for one of my race, yet, unlike the 
little sweep who enacted ' Paul Pry' in the 
palace, I take care to let nothing out unad- 

" All honeymoons should be kept sacredly 
secret, and this was a honeymoon indeed ! 
Pure passionate love, watched by the Virtues, 
attended by the Graces, and kept alive by all 
the Arts — Aladdin's lamp and Fortunatus's 
cap ever at hand — and no fear of the subtle, 
stealthy inroads of ennui and listlessness, be- 
cause no stupid dissipation or enervating 
luxury made pale the rosy hours. 

" Prom the early breakfast to the happy 
close of day, every hour had its pleasant duty 
or its innocent delight. The royal l)rido 
found every joy at once doubled and shared. 


and the Castle of Indolence had nothing in 
common with the Castle at Windsor. How- 
ever, although all was calm as a summer lake, it 
was not the stillness of a stagnant pond ; and 
the chief beauty of the lake is the ripple and 
the curl awakened by the summer wind, while 

* Even in the tranquillest climes, 
Slight breezes will ruffle the flowers sometimes.' 

And a young pair must be as soulless as love- 
birds to be as monotonously fond. A woman 
is nothing without a will of her own, and a 
man is nothing if he cannot occasionally 
(rather by ' insinuation than bluster,' as Peggy 
Lobkin says) subdue that will. There is a 
dash of George the Good in that ' fair-haired 
lady on the throne,' and a spice of Queen 
Bess too. 

* But Love will still be Lord of all.' 
And as the old adage has it — 

* That man is no man 

If by his tongue he cannot win a woman.' 

And the handsome, accomplished bridegroom 


had a winning tongue ; and though wedded, 
they were lovers still, and long, nay, ever may 
they be so, with no quarrels but lovers' quar- 
rels to enhance their love ; and may their faith- 
ful, candid constancy on both sides, which has 
made it not merely a virtue and a wisdom 
(that it always was) to be fond and true in 
Avedlock, make it, what to the heau monde 
is more important, the fashion to be so. 
During this brief period of delicious seclu- 
sion, I was often in office, and when not on 
active duty I was consigned to the splendid 
cushion of white satin and rich lace which 
adorned the toilet table in the bridal bou- 

'' But alas, alas ! a fall more sudden and 
more terrible than that of Wolsey awaited me. 

" One morning, one bright frosty morning 
in early spring, a sweet clear voice summoned 
a fair young prince to a morning walk in the 
park and on the slopes. 

" I was rc(|uired for some trifling service, 


and the gentle liand of my royal mistress 

herself placed me in the warm and graceful 

plaid. How proud I was ! I pitied and 

despised my bed-fellows, on whose closely 

studded heads I looked as on a mob, above 

wliom I had risen. It was a happy walk, and 

I listened to the sweet, loving, bright talk oi' 

the young pair, so happy, so full of joy and 

frolic ! they 

' Loved to meet the morning face to face, 
To breathe that air that seems the soul to brace.* 

They enjoyed the morning, the spring ; they 
sympathised with both. It was the morning 
of life — the spring of existence with them. 
He told her some pleasant story or some in- 
nocent jest, and 

' Her laugh, oh, her laugh, without any control, 
But the sweet one of gracefulness, rung from her soul ; 
And where it most sparkled no glance could discover — 
In lip, cheek, or eye, for they brightened all over.' 

" Well, it was so very sunny, bright, and 
bracing, that the royal pair walked on to one 


of the gardeners' cottages to see a sick child, 
for whom the bride cared, as she does for all 
that suffer. Alas, alas ! after the fresh air ol* 
the park, the cottage felt warm and close — the 
plaid was mipinned ! How it happened, 1 
know not, for my royal mistress has, though 
the gentlest, the firmest of hands, but the child 
screamed from some sudden pain ; she rose to 
go to its cradle, and I fell — fell from my high 
estate — fell from a queenly bosom to the cot- 
tage floor ! 

" Yes, there I lay. A substitute was soon 
found. They say no man is so important but 
that his place can easily be filled — soon su})- 
phed, and not long regretted. And it is with 
pins as it is with men. 

'' The royal pair hurried away on their 
eiTand of mercy to send remedies to the suf- 
fering child. Tiie small foot of my royal mis- 
tress trod on my devoted head ; that was no- 
thing — it was an honour to be at her feet; but 
soon I heard her voice, low, musical, aiul 


mournful in the distance. She was talking of 
the little sufferer and the anxious mother ; and 
the next moment that mother's broad heavy 
foot, in its sealskin shoe, trod me into a crevice 
of the floor. There I lay for some time, 
stunned, blind, desolate, degraded, and in utter 
despair, envying, as soon as I recovered sufii- 
ciently to think at all, the companions of my 
cushion, whom I had so foolishly despised. 
Then I moralized, as many a Prime Minister 
has done, when ' out of office,' and said, with 
Ann Boleyn, — 

* I swear 'tis better to be lowly born, 
And range with humble livers in content.' 

" But from my crevice in the floor I could 
watch the gardener's wife — the mother of the 
sick child, indeed of many children. It was 
a good, pious, regular little household. A good 
man was the husband, but silent, and at times 
a little surly ; but hard work and a very large 
family make a thoughtful man anxious. 

*' He could not enter into the intense anxiety 


of his poor wife about tlie little child, who 
grew daily worse and worse, and whose cries 
irritated and sometimes enraged the father, 
but filled the mother's heart with ineffable pity, 
anguish, and despair. It was in vain the 
father reminded her that *the poor, puling 
little creature was the tenth,' and that even 
good wages were insufficient to fill twelve 
mouths and clothe twelve bodies. 

" ' Ben eats next to nothing,' she would say ; 
' the more's the pity ; and as for clothes, he 
has had but one pair of shoes, and they're as 
good as new : he'll never ruin you in shoe 
leather, master.' 

" ' No, but he'll ruin me by taking up all 
your time and thoughts, wife. I ain't a hard 
man, as you knows, nor a bad husband, nor a 
cruel father, but if it was Mike, and his wife 
let him go with a cold dinner and a ragged 
shirt, while she was blubbering over a sick 
child, he'd lay a stick across her sliouldcrs ; 
and not far wrong neither ; he tokl nie he 


" ' He was always a brute/ sobbed the poor 
mother, ' and he owes me a grudge.' 

" ' What ! because you gave him the go-by, 
and took me ; well, Mike says now he's glad 
you did, for he never would have lived peaceable 
with a woman that neglected a living husband 
for a dying child.' 

" ' Dying 1 oh, do not say he is dying !' 
sobbed the poor woman, to whom the words 
were a knell ; and at the reality thus conveyed 
to her worst fears she threw her apron over 
her head, and gave way to a passionate burst 
of hysterical anguish. 

" While she did so, Mike looked in. 

" ' Oh, Jem,' he said, ' I came to ax you 
to give me a cup of hot tea, but I see, though 
you're a married man, your hearth don't burn 
no brighter than mine. Come, as there ain't 
no tea ready for you here, come along o' me 
to The Bull, and let's have a glass together.' 

" ' Don't go to The Bull, Jem,' said the wife 
starting up, ' I'll soon get your tea.' 


" Mike looked at Jem as much as to say, 
' Don't you be dictated to ; be master !' 

'* Such a look is omnipotent in all classes. 
Jem got up. 

" ' You shouldhave had my teaready, missus/ 
he said; 'and mind you does another time.' 

" ' And bless your stars/ said Mike, ' you've 
got a meek man to deal with. 'Tain't every 
man, after a hard day's work, will behave like 
a lamb when he finds nor bit nor sup ready 
for him. Come along, Jem, they're always 
ready at T/ie Bull.' 

" ' He'll teach him to drink and to beat me,' 
sobbed the poor wife. But her children came 
in from work and school ; and luckily for her 
she could not sit still like a lady and fret lier- 
self ill ; she had to get up and bustle about, 
give them their suppers and put them to bed. 

" I watched this poor humble heroine of suf- 
fering through many trials ; the sharpest of all 
the death of her little child, her youngest — her 

VOL. in, H 


" She met with Uttle sympathy ; for unedu- 
cated men do not feel much /or women or with 
women; but yet Jem was much shaken 
when he saw the still, pale form and face of 
the little child of woe in its small coffin ; and 
his large, muscular, sun-burnt chest heaved 
with the late remorse of love as he remembered 
that when its sharp cries had disturbed his 
short night (very short it seemed, after a long 
day's work), he had often scolded, stormed at, 
alas ! more than once sworn at it. And the 
words of the poor little creature in excuse and 
deprecation of his wrath — ' Ben so bad, 
daddy,' fell on his ear, or rather his conscience, 
as his tears dropped fast and thick on the little, 
wasted, pinched form and face, and the blue 
lips that could never more disturb him. Yes, 
the father's grief was tempestuous, but it soon 
])assed away ; the mother's was (after the first 
burst) silent, deep, and life-long. 

" The little coffin lid shut the child (it almost 
iilways does) out of the father's heart, and ififo 


the mother's ; but poor little Ben's death had 
great influence on my destinies. 

"In little Ben's last hours, and after his 
poor mother had watched by him for a week, 
an humble, ' rugged nurse,' whose chief office 
was to tend the dying and lay out the dead, 
was sent in by the husband, who felt for his 
wife's lonely anguish in spite of the heartless, 
evil counsels of the vindictive Mike. She was 
a ghastly -looking old hag, was old Winny 
Watch ; ' Death Watch' she was irreverently 
called in the neighbourhood ; and her con- 
stant association with death had imparted to 
her looks something of the palhd, rigid ex- 
pression of the king of terrors. Her promi- 
nent features were sharp and pinched ; her 
skin of ghastly hue ; teeth she had none ; a 
tall form, much bent ; long, bony, skinny 
hand ; and a slow, halting pace, aided by a 

" The lower orders always try to make a 
sort of festival of the presence of Death, even 


in those parts of the United Kingdom where 
imperial honours are not paid to the dread 
and omnipotent sovereign, to whom, sooner 
or later, every mortal pays tribute, and under 
whose black banner everything that breathes 
is at last enlisted. 

" Cessation from work, and decent black 
attire, clean faces and hands, and smooth hair, 
among the women ; and shaven chins among 
the men, and the presence, where Death holds 
his court, of his prime ministers, gin, rum, 
and brandy, — these things unite to make a 
grim, ghastly holiday when the deceased lies 
in state ; and everywhere, from castle to 
cottage, from hall to hovel, the dead lie in 

" There is mystery, there is majesty in 
every shrouded form that has undergone that 
struggle and that change all shudder to think 

" A monarch cannot look without awe on 
an infant in its last long sleep. 


" In some places the laying out of the dead 
is almost a work of art. But in all the white 
linen, the flowers in summer, the* faint, sickly, 
haunting perfume of the funeral herbs— rue, 
rosemary, and southernwood — the evergreens 
in winter, the tin-plate ornaments of the hum- 
blest cofhn, the hush, the gloom,— all unite 
to give effect to the presence of the king, and 
the subject he has just claimed. 

" It was the summer prime when little Ben- 
jamin Dell expired in his mother's arms, and 
' Death Watch' hobbled about the cottage ; and 
while the mother would not let any hands but 
her own straighten the little wasted Umbs, close 
the sunken eyes, wash the waxen face, and 
array and lay out the heart's idol, the ' Death 
Watch,' a little nettled at not being allowed 
to perform her chief and highest office, mut- 
tered out many a superstitious prophecy, and 
set about ' tidying up a bit,' and making for 
herself and the poor sobbing mother (half 
choked with the spasm in her throat and the 


contraction at her full heart) ' a nice hot cup 
of tea with the leastest drop o' rum in it.' 

" It is needless to say Winny Watch had 
all that ' tea/ with its rasher ' done to a turn/ 
the new-laid eggs (laid by little Ben's own 
white hen), and the hot cake all to herself; a 
drop or a morsel would have choked the poor 

" But just as I saw the whole tea prepared, 
my shining form and silver head caught the 
eye of old Winny. ' Waste not, want not,' 
gibbered she ; and ' if you let a pin lay, you'll 
want a pin another day / and so her vulture- 
like nails extricated me from my niche ; and 
I, who had nestled in a fair, young, queenly 
bosom, noAv found myself in the large white 
cambric handkerchief that crossed the withered 
bust of old Winny. I had heard enough to 
know that in the ordinary course of events I 
should not easily obtain my freedom. 

" Winny was of a very saving, grasping 
nature. People thought her very poor, ' for 


who/ said they, ' would perform such offices 
unless compelled to do so by pmchmg po- 
verty ?' 

" Winny was not poor ; she loved her occu- 
pation — she took a pride in the skill (the 
result of a long, ghastly practice) with which 
she could reduce the most distorted corpse of 
one who, in her own words, ' had died hard,' 
and make it look, as she said, like ' a marble 
statute/ She had a taste in shrouds, and 
palls, and coffins, and a very strong will. 

" And at a time when, unnerved by grief, 
many have no will of their own, old Winny 
was often deputed to arrange all that regarded 
the last solemn duties, and was a person of 
importance in the eyes of the undertakers." 

Mr. Grinlay Snarl, as before, never spoke 
during the whole time Lucy was reading, 
but he kept his eyes fixed on her face ; and 
as she was now accustomed to his manner, 
and his evidence of feeling, connected with 


the preface to " Lucile," had raised him im- 
mensely in her opinion, she smiled very 
sweetly upon him, as she said, *' So ends the 
first chapter/' 

" It'll do ! It'll do !" said Grinlay Snarl. 
" Give it here ; I'll have it set up. It shall 
appear next week, and do you. Miss Lucy, 
get those reviews done, and the concluding 
portion of your tale. Don't be idle; I'm 
much mistaken if you won't some day, after 
a pretty long apprenticeship to me, astonish 
the world with a work that will make you a 
name, and put you on the high road to 

''There, darling!'* cried Mrs. Blair, em- 
bracing Lucy with weeping eyes ; " there's 

" It may be done," said Grinlay Snarl ; 
" but it will only be by great industry, great 
])erseverance, and entire obedience to me diu*- 
ing a long apprenticeship." So saying, he 
took up his hat and hurried away. 




Lucy could not share her mother's delight 
in Grinlay Snarl's prophecy. A long appren- 
ticeship to such a master, and entire obe- 
dience to him, were more than she thought she 
could endure. 

Mrs. Blair went to bed in provokingly high 
spirits about her daughter's prospects; and 
Lucy had no opportunity of opening her let- 
ters until her mother was asleep. 

Nor would Mrs. Blair have left Lucy in the 
sitting room at that late hour, but that she 


saw her seat herself at her writing-table, and 
the poor, simple-minded mother thought, if 
her dear girl felt inspired, it would be selfish 
to insist on her attending her. 

Lucy thought she recognized the armorial 
bearings on one of her letters, and that the 
hand-writing was not quite new to her. She 
was therefore not very much surprised when 
she found that one of the answers to her ad- 
vertisement was from Sir George Hamilton 
Treherne. It ran thus : — 

" Belgrave Square, 

"Nov. 10th, 18— 
" Sir George Hamilton Treherne, having one of his 
daughters with him in Town, would be glad to see Miss 
B. L. — with reference to engaging her services as a 
Daily Governess. He will be all the better pleased, as 
will his daughter, if the advertiser should prove to be a 
young lady already known to them, and the loss of 
whose valuable instructions they have never ceased to 
regret ; but if it should be thus, and the advertiser has 
any reason to feel that she cannot with comfort to her- 
self renew her visits to Sir George Hamilton Treherne's 
house, he begs to say how ghid he should be to act as a 


reference for her, and to bear testimony to her un- 
rivalled accompHshments and virtues, should B. L. prove 
to be the young lady in question." 

" I must answer so polite and amiable a 
note !" said Lucy to herself. " And I do not 
feel as if I ever could knock at that great in- 
hospitable door again, or engage in a task that 
would recall trials that almost cost me my 
life. Lady Hamilton Treherne may be abroad, 
or out of Town ; but the whole establishment 
cannot be changed ; and, except Annette, who 
is probably with her mistress, there is not one 
face on which I have not seen a scowl and a 
sneer, always ready to answer the timid and 
often thrice-repeated knock of the daily gover- 

The next answer Lucy opened, was in a 
female hand, and was dated the Blissful Re- 
treat, Bayswater. 

Lucy read as follows : — 

" Mrs. Dr. Frimly Mildmay is in want of a daily 
governess to instruct her four little girls and two little 


boys in all the branches of a solid and polite English 
education, with music, singing, dancing, calisthenic ex- 
ercises, theology, and the use of the globes. If B. L. 
will call at the ' Blissful Retreat,' Bayswater, any day 
this week, between the hours of ten and twelve, she 
will probably be engaged to attend Mrs. Dr. Frimly 
Mildmay's children as daily governess, should her terms 
prove moderate and her references unexceptionable." 

" The distance is very great," thought Lucy, 
" and I know mamma would object. What 
have we here ?" 

" Bedford Square. 
*' Madam, 

" My consort being a valetudinarian, I take the initia- 
tive to specify, that if your multiform qualifications re- 
spond to your elaboration of them in your advertisement 
in the Times of this day, 1 shoiild be glad to confabulate 
with you to-morrow at 3 p.m. with an ulterior view to 
an engagement, if, after a minute and deliberate exami- 
nation, I am satisfied of your eruditical and etymological 
lexicography. I may add, that any governess who 
refuses to submit to an elaborate investigation of her 
fundamental and conversational perfection in French, 
German, and Italian, by myself, will not obtain the ap- 
pointment of directress of the culminating, intellectual 
process in the minds of my elder offspring, nor of the 
rudimental development of knowledge in the case of 
the juniors. The essence of advertisement (as the great 


Dr. Johnson says) is promise ; but in my experience 
proportionate performance is seldom elaborated. Out 
of twenty advertisements from ladies professing to be 
of first-rate excellence in all the branches of an eru- 
dite female education, eighteen have shrunk from any 
examination at all, and the other two would have saved 
themselves from much disgrace, and me from much 
trouble, pain, and disappointment, if they had done 
the same ! On the other hand, if you really are all 
your advertisement announces, I should not grudge an 
amount of remuneration more liberal than female tuition 
generally appropriates ; and I should not require your 
services more than three times in a week, for two 
hours on each successive occasion. Your pupils would 
be my four daughters, hitherto educated by myself 
(in a great measure), and very far advanced in the 
languages especially ; they are of the respective ages 
of 17, 15, 14, and 10. 

** The favour of a response is desiderated by. Madam, 
"Your obedient servant, 

" Hectoe Masteeman." 

" This will suit me admirably," said Lucy, 
to herself. " I don't think I need be afraid 
of any examination an Englishman can sub- 
ject me to in Prench, Italian, or German, 
being as I am almost to the manner born ; 
and I fancy he is some inflated, pedantic cox- 


combical pretender, who has not, as yet, met 
with any one able to prove to him that he is 
so. Now^ if, for two hours three times a 
week, I can get enough to make me indepen- 
dent of Grinlay Snarl (should he take offence 
and withdraw his odious patronage, or offer his 
more odious hand), how thankful I should be. 
I w^ill write to this pedant at once a note which 
I will post before breakfast to-morrow, agree- 
ing to the examination, and fixing three p.m. 
for the encounter. I will refer him to Sir 
George Hamilton Treherne, if we come to 
terms, and I will go to Bayswater and see 
Mrs. Dr. Frimly Mildmay — she must be a vid- 
garian to call herself Mrs. Dr. — but, if all 
I foresee comes to pass, I must not lose a 

Having come to these determinations, Lucy 
retired to bed, and the next morning at break- 
fast she showed the letters to her mother, and 
told her that she thought and felt it was her 
duty to endeavour to secure some other source 


of remuneration, in case Mr. Grinlay Snarl 
took offence at any thing, and withdrew his 

"I see but one danger of that, my love," 
said Mrs. Blair, '' and that is the possibility, 
nay, the probability, that he has an ulterior 
personal object and interest in all the trouble 
he is taking with you, and that he may, 
when he has initiated you into the mysteries 
of autl>orship (and, according to his own no- 
tions, made you in every way a help -meet for 
him), propose to you a partnership for life !" 

" And then, as he is, I'm sure, very vain 
and conceited, mamma," said Lucy, " he will 
take such offence at my rejection of his pro- 
posals, that from a very troublesome friend 
he will become a very terrible enemy — at any 
rate, all chance of making an income by my 
pen will be at an end, mamma." 

" Well ! if you could not bring yourself to 
fancy him, I suppose it would !" said Mrs. 
Blair, with a sigh. 


" Bring myself to fancy that rude, dictato- 
rial, intolerable bore, mamma !" 

" Why, he is very intellectual, my love ; and 
therefore there would be a great bond of 
sympathy between you, at any rate, and from 
something he let fall I fancy he is very well 
off. I begin to think nothing so dreadful for 
a woman, as being dependent entirely on her 
own exertions. A fit of illness, or some great 
sorrow, might make my poor Lucy a beggar 
or an inmate of the union." 

''I do not underrate the miseries of po- 
verty, dear mamma, but I would ten thou- 
sand times rather be a beggar in the streets, 
or a pauper in the union, than the wife of 
Mr. Grinlay Snarl. Why, of the two, I 
should infinitely prefer Mr. Stockton." 

" Ah, so should I, my love, for you ; and 
have often regretted that you so rashly and 
hastily rejected that excellent, amiable, and 
wealthy old man. But heaven knows where 
he is now — regrets are useless !" 


" Quite," said Lucy ; " for were he to re- 
new his offer, my answer would be the 
same !" 

"Ah," groaned Mrs. Blair, "my poor roman- 
tic deluded child ! At your age, I know, the 
heart is disposed to sacrifice everything to an 
illusion, and to suppose that * Love will still be 
lord of all ;' but trust one who married for 
love, and who has experienced all the bitter 
realities of a love-match, who in early youth 
eloped with a lover who seemed to be the very 
beau ideal of her girlish dreams. Those were 
the days of the post-chaises and of Gretna 
Green, my child, and in a post-chaise and 
four, a young couple, the man an Adonis of 
twenty - two, the girl a blond Psyche of 
eighteen, and madly in love with each other, 
arrived, some twenty years ago, at the old 
blacksmith's, and were married by him ; the 
bridegroom was radiant with happy smiles, 
the bride was bathed in happier tears, l^ey 
tried the rash experiment of ' love in a cot- 



tage/ and for a few sweet weeks of a brilliant 
autiimn, with its rich flowers, its clustering 
grapes, and its rides and drives through the 
dehcious county of Devon, they were happy, 
happy as the butterflies or the grasshoppers, 
before cold rains and colder frosts set in, and 
winter ' reigns triumphant o'er the conquered 
year/ as the poet says. He was far above his 
bride in station, for she, though gently born, 
Avas used to a cottage, he to a town mansion 
or a hall in a park. The marriage w^as a pri- 
vate one, and know n only to a friend of his 
and to his lawyer ; but ere long his family 
suspected something, and were furious. 

" By this time winter had set in, and on 
his side, alas ! that winter of the heart which 
satiety brings with it. Perhaps it was in some 
measure her fault that she idohzed him ! she 
was too lavish of her love, her extreme ten- 
derness, her intense devotion, her unwearied 
and almost slavish attentions. She wanted 
notliing but him. He wanted everything but 


her. The leaves were gone from the trees, 
the round bright faces of the dahlias had 
darkened with the first frost, and so had his. 
The pretty thatched cottage with which they 
had been so enraptured on their arrival, which 
lie had called 'The Love-Bird's Nest,' and 
which, with its tufts of houseleek, its moss, 
and lichens, and its varied tints, looked so cosy 
in the sun when the purple-breasted pouters 
and snowy fantails, or grey rock pigeons, set- 
tled on it, Avas soon covered with snow ; which, 
when it melted, sunk through the roof, and 
made the house very damp, the chimneys 
smoke, and the pretty garden a swamp ! The 
little house was cold and draughty. It was 
made for Love and Summer, to them it was a 
paradise. To indifference and Winter it was a 
dimgeon. Indifference on his side only ! — poor 
wife, the more wretched things were without, 
the more her heart clung to him — to him in 
whom indifference Avas fast becoming dislike, if 
not hatred. She had, indeed, 'made an idol,' and 


she found it clay ; for sybarite that he was, he 
complained that the cottage smelt of roast 
mutton and damp apples, that he was bored 
to death, and that every day seemed a week, 
and every week a month. 

" Then came domestic dissensions, quarrels, 
accusations, recriminations. The disappointed, 
wretched wife, jealous to distraction of any 
woman with whom he flirted, and he was an 
incurable flirt, may have been aggravating, 
but even if so, that did not excuse his be- 
coming brutal. The gentle, the gallant, the 
elegant Adonis of her girlish idolatry, was 
in the cups to which he resorted, and in the 
nervous irritation that succeeded that unhal- 
lowed excitement, as coarse and savage as the 
working man under the same circiunstances, 
and blows and kicks, accompanied by oaths 
and curses, at last drove love from his strong- 
hold in her heart. 

"His regiment just then was ordered abroad. 
He had proposed before marriage to sell 


out, now he was determined to go out with 

'' By this time his bride was quite disen- 
chanted, quite reconciled to any arrangement 
that would free her from her tyrant. He was 
deeply in debt, and therefore he did not dare 
to own his marriage to his friends, but it is 
possible they suspected it ; yet on his agree- 
ing to all their requirements, they paid his 
debts, and he left the country. They then 
sought out the poor young wife, who was 
likely in due time to become a mother, and 
who, on their addressing her as his mistress, 
indignantly proclaimed herself his wedded 
wife ; and though they professed incredulity, 
yet they probably were convinced she was 
so, for they offered, if she would go on the 
continent after her child was born, under a 
feigned name, which they selected, and exert 
her talents for her own maintenance in schools 
and convents, they would provide for her till 
and during her confinement, and pay her regu- 


larly forty pounds per annum during life. She 
had no funds, no means — he had heartlessly 
left her quite destitute, and she agreed. What 
else could she do when beggary and starvation 
threatened herself and her child ? 

" She had not been on the continent with 
her little one three years (she was then in a 
convent at Florence as English teacher), when 
an English newspaper was sent her, with an 
account of a battle in India — Gwalior, and 
her husband's name was among the killed. 

" You have guessed, my Lucy, that the hero 
and heroine of that love-match, the denizens 
of that thatched cottage, the victims of that 
delusion were — your father and your mother. 
You know a good deal, my darling, of the 
trials and miseries you have soothed and 
shared; but of those which preceded your 
birth, angel of comfort and love ! you cannot 
know. You cannot even imagine the agonies 
of disappointed love, or what intolerable mi- 
sery may result from a love-match." 


Poor Mrs. Blair closed her touching story, 
weeping bitterly, and Lucy felt it was no 
time to reason, and that it would be vain to 
argue with emotions such as these. 

But her mother had not positively objected 
to Lucy's calling on Mr. Masterman and Mrs. 
Frimly Mildmay ; and after she had written 
industriously at her " History of a Pin," for 
three hours, while her mother was gone to 
market for their simple dinner, Lucy set out 
for Bedford Square. 




Mr. Hector Masterman sat in state in a 
very large and lofty back dining-room of a 
noble house in Bedford Square, which apart- 
ment was partly a library, and partly a 

He was a tall, sallow, stern-looking man, 
about sixty, with bushy black eye-brows, and 
keen little black eyes, that sparkled through 
his green spectacles with a fiery radiance. 
All his early life he had been a clerk in 
Somerset House, and had had no time to 
indulge in a rather pedantic taste for know- 


ledge. The death of an uncle of great wealth, 
who quite unexpectedly left his fortune to 
him (not out of love for him, but out of spite 
to a nephew who had offended him), enabled 
him to quit his desk and high stool, and to 
devote himself to his own education. 

Like all who begin that task late, he even 
overrated (if that is possible) its importance ; 
and even when engaged in a battle with the 
elements, if he came off conqueror, he always 
believed that what was new to him must be so 
to others, and was voted by the young ladies, 
whom he teased with extracts from, and ex- 
aminations in, Lindley Murray and Duverger, 
a pedant and a bore. However, pedant and 
bore as he was, he was also a bachelor Avith 
some five thousand a year, and as such was 
so great a prize in the matrimonial market, that 
mothers and daughters left no efforts untried 
to secure him. 

Young ladies cast aside their Berlin wool 
and their novels, and set to work at the un- 


grateful task of reviving their reminiscences 
of Lindley Murray, Latin grammar, and Du- 
verger. Some clever, spirited girls, thinking 
to captivate him, met him in single combat 
with his own weapons, and as his blade was 
of untempered steel, they conquered him in 
one sense, but that w^as not the way to do so 
in another. Like all such pedants, he was 
iiTitable, extremely vain and conceited, and 
very vindictive. 

The lady on whom he fixed was not one of 
those successful combatants who had un- 
horsed him in the lists of grammar, but a 
pretty little blonde of seventeen, instructed 
by a very shrewd mamma not to dispute with 
him, but to appeal to him as an autliority, 
especially in grammar, to constitute herself 
his pupil, and to profess unbounded admira- 
tion of his learning, and reliance on his 

Poor little deceiver ! she paid a heavy 
price for her hypocrisy. During the court- 


ship the literary pretender and pedantic cox- 
comb bored her nearly to death, and in wed- 
lock he proved to be not only a bore but a 
very tyrannical, overbearing, ill-tempered fel- 
low. His twenty years at Somerset House 
on the sordid stipend of a clerk had made 
him very close and stingy in everything that 
had not some reference to his hobby ; and 
until he had children to whom he could trans- 
fer pedantic instructions, she was driven almost 
mad with prosody and syntax. 

He had one son, now about twenty -two, to 
whom he wisely gave those advantages, — 
those invaluable advantages of school and 
college training, which had been denied to 
himself ; but of his four daughters he was the 
persevering and untiring pedagogue. Their 
dread of him, instilled in their early child- 
hood by the aid of the birch and the strap, 
was quite abject ; and it is much to be feared 
that dislike, as it almost always does, if not 
hatred, kept pace with that dread. As for 


his wife, what with dehcate health and his 
tyranny, a more down-trodden, dejected, 
hopeless little woman never existed. The 
little, fair, bright-haired, blue-eyed blonde he 
had married was now grey, sallow, wizened, 
her eyes red with frequent tears, and her 
manner scared and nervous with the constant 
dread of insult or rebuke. The daughters 
were large, dull, heavy-eyed, sallow girls, all 
wearing their hair short, to save time for 
study, and all, through premature poring over 
print, obliged to wear spectacles. The only 
bright, happy-looking thing in the house was 
the tall, handsome, manly son; and if the 
poor mother's heart ever felt a ray of sun- 
shine warm it, that ray came from his eyes, 
his smile. 

" You do not require my presence, do 
you, Mr. Masterman ?" said Mrs. Masterman, 
who stole into the study in a close cap 
and grey shawl, shivering with cold and 
looking very dreary. "I am rather busy 


just now, and if you do not really want 

" Which I do," said Mr. Masterman, " were 
it only that the new governess might theorise 
the mother of her disciples, in some elaborate 
minutiae, at least, as their father is very anxious 
as to the competency of a new instructress." 

Mrs. Masterman said no more, but sank into 
the chair to which he motioned her with a 
very authoritative wave of the hand. 

He had seated himself like a chairman at 
a public meeting, in a high -backed, throne- 
like seat at the head of a long library 
table ; upon it w^ere a pair of globes, books, 
slates, mathematical instruments, blotting- 
cases, pens, ink, paper, and a gold repeater. 
He held Lucy Blair's reply in his hand. 

" I opine, Urania," he said, addressing his 
eldest daughter, " I opine from the decision 
of tone of this epistle, and the firm, clear 
nature of the caligraphy, that Miss Blair is 
in the meridian of life. She seems rather to 


court than to shrink from examination ; that 
may or may not be ominous of competency. 
There is a rashness which pertains to bucoHc 
ignorance, and which is often mistaken for the 
courage of a commensurate acumen. I shall, 
I doubt not, very easily fathom the , depths of 
her erudition in either case ; but as hitherto 
all my endeavours to procure for you an in- 
structor of the weaker sex have proved abor- 
tive, I shall only be too glad if the present 
applicant should supply the desideratum." 

A¥hile Mr. Masterman was making this 
pompous speech, Lucy, simply dressed in plain 
black silk, with a mantle of the same, and in 
a neat straw bonnet, her features hidden by 
a double brown gossamer veil, turned the 
corner of the square, and the wind, as she did 
so, raising that veil, she saw that the corner 
house was the one she was in search of ; and 
presently she stood face to face with young 
Mr. Masterman, who had just opened the street 
door, riding-whip in hand, and was about to 


issue forth for his daily ride, when his bright 
eyes fell on the loveliest face and form he had 
ever seen in his day or night dreams, which 
face, as the wind had so completely blown 
back the veil, was clearly visible in all its 
blushing beauty. The young man blushed also. 

" I beg your pardon," said Lucy, " but this 
is Mr. Masterman's, is it not ?" 

" It is ; he is my father ; do you wish to 
see him ?" 

"Yes; I came here by appointment." 

" To see my mother?" 

" No, Mr. Masterman." 

A footman at this moment crossed the 
hall ; the young man called him and said 
to Lucy — 

" Perhaps you will send in your name ; 
my father is at home." 

Lucy, having taken an opportunity of lower- 
ing her veil, said — 

'' Tell Mr. Masterman Miss Blair is come 
according to appointment." 


" Miss Blair ! the daily governess !" thought 
the young man. " Can this Sylphid, this 
Psyche, this Aurora, be a poor, drudging, 
down - trodden daily governess ? " There 
was commiseration in the bow with which 
he took his leave, as he passed out and 
sprang upon the horse, which a groom held 
with his own at the entrance. 

Lucy returned that bow with a graceful 
bend, and the next instant the footman re- 
turned and motioned her into the formidable 
presence of Mr. Masterman. 




Mr. Masterman was a little sui-prised by 
the youth, beauty, and dignified simplicity of 
the Daily Governess. 

He had so fully expected to see a middle- 
aged, hard-featured, ordinary woman, that 
when Lucy took the seat on his right hand to 
which he pompously motioned her, and raised 
her veil, a little ejaculation of surprise and ad- 
miration burst from his wife and daughters, 
and he himself looked at her with interest 
and attention, which latter feeling, however, 



changed into disappointment as he thought 
that instead of a tough wtestle with a strong 
foe, ending in a great triumph, it would be 
ahiiost beneath him to enter the lists with this 
weak girl. 

" You are much more juvenile than my pre- 
figurated ideal, Miss Blair," said Mr. Master- 
man, rather reproachfully. 

"The French," said Lucy, gently, ''have a 
pretty saying in favour of youth, Le talent n a 
pas d'age!' 

The perfection of Lucy's French accent 
struck Mr. Masterman, who had actually spent 
u season in Paris, going to the theatre every 
night to improve his pronunciation. 

" I had desiderated," he said, " yoiu* sub- 
jection to a rigid examination, in French par- 
ticularly, but you are so juvenile, you have 
reduced me to a vacillation to do so." 

/' I am quite willing and ready to answer 
any questions you wish to put to me," said 


'' I opine that I may lacerate your sensibili- 
ties, Miss Blair ; but as Canrobert said, ' on ne 
pent pas f aire une omelette sans casser les ceufs!' 

" Excuse me," said Lucy, " I do not know 
whether you have purposely spoken thus to try 
if I am French enough to detect a blunder." 

" A blunder, Miss Blair, what do you 
insinuate ?" 

*' Two blunders, rather," said Lucy, smiling, 
" of course meant to try me." 

" Two blunders !" 

" Yes, one of construction and one of pro- 

Mr. Masterman purpled, even his bald head 
was flushed, and two little chinchilla hooks of 
hair on his temples stood on end, " while 
curled his very beard for ire." Down -trodden 
little Mrs. Masterman turned round to listen, 
the girls reddened and gazed at Lucy open- 
mouthed, but with a gleam of pleasure in their 
red eyes. 

" Of course," said Lucv, " in tliis cxamin- 


ation you wish me to point out faults, the de- 
tection of which is probably the test of my 
ability. On 7ie peut pas /aire u?ie omelette, 
is wrong, inasmuch 2i^ pas in that instance is a 
pleonasm and an inelegancy, and no French- 
man ever pronounces the / in ce?ffs ; they 
pronounce ceiifs as if it were the Avord ne 
without the 7^." 

As Lucy spoke she suddenly looked up at 
Mr. Masterman in his high chair, and perceived 
that young Masterman had returned, glided in 
unperceived, and was standing by his father's 
side and gazing intently on her. 

Mr. Masterman, glad to escape from the con- 
fusion consequent upon detected ignorance in 
one so pedantic and presumptuous, availed 
himself of his son's presence to say, " Do you 
want to speak to me, Horace?" 

• " Oh no. Sir, I only wished to come in for 
a windfall or two from the tree of knowledge ;" 
and as he spoke he drew a chair to the table, 
and sat down opposite Lucy. 


However, Lucy was no coquette, nor was 
she, as we know, heart-whole or fancy free, so 
that the presence of this young man, handsome 
and engaging as he certainly was, made no 
difference whatever to her. 

Mr. Masterman did not return to the subject 
of les (Bufs, although it was a very favourite 
quotation, and one with which he had floored 
two pretenders. He took out a crabbed-looking 
note-book with sentences written in French by 
himself on one side, and interleaved with blank 
paper. He handed it to Lucy, and said, 
" There is a pen and ink ; when you are ready, 
I am at your service." He then turned to his 
son and questioned him about the reasons of 
his sudden return ; which reasons seemed even 
to Lucy so lame that she could scarcely re- 
press a smile. 

Mr. Masterman glanced through his specta- 
cles very suspiciously at Lucy as her pen sped 
rapidly along. In the course of seven or eight 
minutes Lucy announced that she was ready. 


" May I trouble you, Miss Blair, to read 
■what I have written, and what you have 
written ?" 

Lucy, in an accent of Parisian purity and 
beauty, read 

French. — '' Vous pouvez obtenir le livre dans 

Translation. — " You can obtain that book 
in Paris." 

Carries. — " Vous potivez procurer ce livre a 

*' Corrige! what do you mean, Miss Blair?" 
said Mr. Masterman. 

" I mean," said Lucy, '' that I have, as I 
presume you intended, translated these little 
sentences and pointed out their faults (gene- 
rally, like those of most English people, be- 
traying an ignorance of French idiom) as 
thus : — Je porter ai mon nouveau chapeau!' 

" I shall wear my new bonnet." 

Corrige. — '' Je porter ai mon chapeau nenf. 
No Prenchman woidd ever say un nouveau 


chapeaUj and few English people would see 

the error of doing so. Again : — 

" Je vais rcgarder les plantes sous ce cadre'' 
" I am going to look at the plants under 

that frame." 

Corrige. — " Sous ce chassis!' 

Again. — " Voidez-vous avoir la bontea achc- 

ter un bain pour mon oiseauT 

^- " Will you be so good as to buy a bath for 

my bird ?" 

Corrige. — " D^acheter une baignoire!' 
Again. — " Jean avait une laiiterne obscure 

a la main!' 

" John had a dark lantern in his hand." 

Corrige. — " Une lanterne sourde!' 

" Elle marche sur VorteiU' 

" She walks on tiptoe." 

Corrige. — " Sur la points du pied!' 

" Voulez-vous oter les os de ce poisson ?" 

" Will you take the bones out of that fish ?" 

Corrige. — ''Les aretes de cepoisson!' 


" Bonnez-moi des raisins, des raisins sees, 
des groseilles noires, et des nectarines." 

" Give me some grapes, some raisins, some 
black cmTants, and some nectarines." 

CorrigL — " Du raisin, des raisins, du cassis, 
et des hrunions!' 

" II f aid que je coupe mon crayon.'/ 

" I must cut my pencil." 

Corrige. — '' II faut que je taille, ^^c, 8fcJ' 

'' Those are all the faults of any import- 
ance," said Lucy, handing the note-book po- 
litely back to the astounded and confounded 
pedant, who for some time had been so para- 
lysed by rage and mortification that he could 
not speak. 

" You must have been brought up in Paris 
to have so perfect a knowledge of the lan- 
guage, Miss Blair," said young Masterman. 

" My whole life," said Lucy, " till within a 
few months, has been spent in France, Italy, 
and Germany, and always where those lan- 
guages were spoken w^th the greatest purity 


of accent, namely, in the best convents and 
schools. Indeed, had not my mother been 
with me I should have lost my English alto- 

" Will you favour me," said Mr. Master- 
man, " by reading a few sentences in Italian ? 
Urania, get the Monaca di Monza?" 

" Here is the Monaca di Monza, papa," 
said Urania. 

" The Monaca di Monza !" said Lucy to 
Urania, taking the book and reading the beau- 
tiful opening of that sweet tale in "a voice " 

" Music to the ear. 
Became a mem'ry to the soul ;" 

at least, so young Horace Masterman thought. 

Mr. Masterman then handed her a volume 
of Goethe, but without venturing to pronounce 
even the name of the author. 

Lucy read half a page, and t]*anslated it 
into elegant English. She then at his re- 
quest sat down to the piano, and without any 


excuses, notes, or fuss, she played a touching 
air with brilUant variations, and sang A te, 
Car a in exquisite taste, and with a clear and 
enchanting soprano. 

When she had done she rose, drew on her 
gloves, and turning to Mrs. Masterman, she 
said — 

" I must hurry away now, madam, for my 
mother is expecting me. I will not press you 
to decide at once ; but perhaps when you and 
Mr. Masterman have made up your minds as 
to my competency you will drop me a line." 

"/ will preliminate with you. Miss Blair," 
said Mr. Masterman, pompously, rising to 
open the door, while Urania hurried to the 
fire-place to pull the bell, and Lucy bowed 
to all round and left the room. 

To her surprise, young Masterman pushed 
before the footman, who had been rung for to 
open the hall door, and performing that office 
himself, said — 

" Thank you for that exquisite song, ]\Iiss 
Blair !" 


Poor Lucy could think of nothing to say 
hut " You are very welcome, I'm sure ;" and 
tripping down the steps, she was soon in New 
Oxford Street, where she found an omnibus 
which took her to Bayswater. 




Lucy, remembering her terrible adventure 
at the Willows, had taken care to consult the 
Court Guide and Post Office Director}^ in 
order to ascertain whether there were such 
people as the Mastermans and the Frimly 
Mildmays living in Bedford Square and at the 
Blissful Retreat, Bayswater ; and not satisfied 
with this alone, she had enquired at a very 
respectable stationer's in the neighbourhood 
of the Mastermans ; and while making some 
small purchases, had ascertained that they 


were very wealthy, and highly respected. At 
Bayswater she took the same precaution, and 
entering a circulating library, asked if they 
Avould direct her to the Blissful Retreat (Dr. 
Frimly Mildmay's). She fancied the two 
young shopmen exchanged looks of smiHng 
intelligence as she mentioned the name of the 
place and people she was in search of. 

However, one of them rephed that he knew 
the Blissful Retreat well, and that the Doctor 
and his Lady were customers of theirs. 

" Is the Blissful Retreat a long way off?" 
asked Lucy. 

" It's a hout-of-the-way place. Miss," said 
the shopman — " about a mile from this. But 
if you take the first tuniing to the right, and 
the third to your left, and go through the 
turnpike, by walking straight on, you'll come 
to it." 

*' Is it a large place ?" asked Lucy. 
"Oh, very," said the shopman, '* and it's 
always as full as it can hold." 


" Of company ?" said Lucy. 

" Of lunatics, Miss !" replied he. " The 
Blissful Retreat is a private lunatic asylum. 
But you'd have seen that at a glance if I 
hadn't told you. It's surrounded by a high 
wall, Miss, and all the windows are barred ; 
and a drearier, dismaller place I never saw, 
particularly at night, when I've heard the 
poor crazy creatures shrieking and howhng 
frightfully. But Dr. Frimly Mildmay has a 
great name as a mad doctor, and they say the 
most raving are soon quelled by him." 

" Or, rather, by Mrs. Frimly Mildmay," 
said the other shopman ; " I've heard say she 
makes 'em all mind her, including the Doctor 
himself. The gray mare's the better horse, 
which it is but natural. Miss, that the female 
sect should rule." 

Lucy had no inclination to joke with these 
gay young shopmen, who were great beaux in 
their way, and were gazing very admiringly 
at her, offering her a seat, handing her the 


Times, and a very smart glazed catalogue of 
their books. They both bounded over the 
counter to attend her to the shop door. And 
then one said, with a sigh — 

" Fine day, Miss ! Oh my ! what a treat 
it would be to have a nice walk as far as the 
Blissful Retreat !" 

" In certain company T said the other, 
" meaning no offence." 

*' The first turning to your right. Miss, the 
third to your left— through the turnpike, 
straight on — you can't miss the Blissful Re- 
treat !" 

" Thank you," said Lucy. " Good day !" 
and she sped along, leaving the shopmen at 
their door gazing after her, and wondering 
who and what she could be, and what she 
could want at the Blissful Retreat (a place 
which had the reputation of being the veiy 
reverse of blissful), but both agreeing that 
she was the finest girl they had ever seen, 
and hoping and believing that she was equally 


smitten with themselves, and would devise 
some excuse for looking in again on her way 

Lucy, young, active, and very light-footed, 
soon found herself before the large iron gates 
of the Blissful Retreat. 

It was exactly what the young shopman 
had described, and the very grounds, in which 
no verdure was to be seen but that of the 
darkest Scotch firs and the most lugubrious 
evergreens, seemed to Lucy the fit haunts of 

Every window was barred, and at the loud 
deep sound of the door bell several grim 
elfish faces grinned at her through the bars, 
and some lean, claw-like hands were thrust 
out, some in menace, some in welcome. 

A butler, who looked as if he could act as 
keeper occasionally, ushered Lucy into a large 
handsomely furnished drawing-room, the 
rrench windows of which looked on ''the 
Grounds ;" they consisted of large tracts of 


rank grass called a lawn, clumps and avenues 
of Scotch fir trees, cypresses, and yews. 

Lucy saw some poor creatures walking up 
and down rapidly, with folded arms and eyes 
fixed on the ground, and she thought of the 
caged panthers and tigers she had seen in the 
Jardin des Plantes, so much did their move- 
ments recall those of wild beasts. Others 
were tripping jauntily along, laughing, shout- 
ing, romping, and kept in check only by stern, 
huge, nurse-like women, the female keepers of 
the Asylum. Lucy saw no male patients — 
their " grounds " were on the other side of 
the road. 

Lucy had never been inside a madhouse 
before, and she was pondering witli awe and 
intense pity on that '' dark midnight of the 
mind," and its revolting evidences, and in- 
wardly praying that neither herself nor he.- 
dearest ones might ever be affected with thnt 
most horrible of punishments, when a rustlin*,' 
and a firm step as of a foot in a high-hcclcd 



])oot, made her turn and look towards the 
door, and a very tall, large-boned woman, in 
a yellow satin bonnet, a green silk dress, with 
a dozen fiomices, and a splendid red cashmere 
shawl, stalked into the room. 

This gorgeous lady was about forty years 
of age. She was of Brazihan extraction on 
her mother's side ; her father was a Scotch- 
man ; and her hair was of a blue-black, while 
lier skin was of a rich copper colour, but her 
cheeks and Hps were of the red of sealing wax ; 
her eyes were very large, black and flashing, and 
her eyebrows and eye-lashes were of jetty hue 
and singularly fine. All her featiu-es, though 
marked, were regular and good, and her well- 
carved scarlet lips (rather too full) revealed, 
when she smiled, teeth very large but even, 
white and sparkling as two strings of Roman 
pearls. Her height was, at least, five feet ten, 
and Lucy, as she gazed at her, no longer 
doubted her power to reduce a refractory pa- 
tient to submission. 


" I am happy to see you, Miss Blair," said 
this Amazon, in a voice so very soft and so 
studiously modulated that Lucy thought it 
could not be natural to her. " You seem 
very delicate. Can you undertake to attend 
pupils at such a distance from your home as 
this ?" 

"I am not delicate, indeed, I am very 
strong," said Lucy, " and the distance would 
not signify much to me, as I can take an 
omnibus from Hungerford Street." 

" An omnibus ? Oh, yes, of course ; if 
you don't mind travelling in an omnibus ! 
But to me an omnibus would be perfectly in- 
tolerable ; I am extremely fastidious, I know 
— exclusive to a degree — to be jammed in 
Avith all sorts of people — squeezed, crowded, 
stared at ; your feet in wet, dirty straw ; el- 
bows and umbrellas poked into your side ; 
men and women in hobnailed shoes treading 
on your tender feet, impertinent people pre- 
suming to adtlrchs you, and at last hurried 


out by an impudent cad, at the risk of your 
life, and set down in the middle of some 
street in the city, and obliged to dash through 
the mud to avoid being run over — oh, it's too 
dreadful ! I would not travel in an omnibus 
for worlds !" 

Lucy thought she must have been in a 
good many, to have described them so accu- 
rately ; but not being so exclusive and fastidi- 
ous, and having often been indebted to an 
omnibus for a long ride at a very cheap rate, 
Lucy said : — 

" Of course an omnibus is not like a pri- 
vate carriage ; but when you consider that for 
three-pence you can be conveyed in safety and 
shelter from Bayswater to the Bank, you must 
own that, to the million, they are a great 
blessing, and I must say that I have never 
met with anything but a spirit of civility and 
accommodation in my fellow passengers." 

" Oh, I dare say they're all very well for 
the niilhon. Carriage people have, of cours(\ 


nothing to do with them. I am a carriage 
person. My mamma's brougham is a perfect 
bijou. Mine is a Hyde Park connection. I 
don't visit any but genuine West-endians. I 
know nobody about here. The Doctor some- 
times says to me, ' Oriana, you should con- 
descend, my love ; you should mix. It's ex- 
pected of you ;' and my answer invariably is, 
' My dear Doctor, don't ask it ; I can't do it ; 
and even if I could, my Hyde Park connexion 
can't. I can't ask Lady Languish or Mrs. 
Einnikin, or the Etiquettes, to meet the bears 
and bores of BaysAvater !' . . . and he sees the 
force of that. ... As I tell him, I dote on 
lions ; I will welcome as many as he likes — 
but bears, bores, asses, and geese, oh, dear, 
no ! by no manner of means. I must beg to 
be excused !" 

The lady laughed at her own wit, and Lucy 
could not help joining. 

" I dare say you think me an odd creature. 
Miss Blair," she said, " very un-English, ec- 


centric, entlnisiastic ; an impassioned child of 
the sun. Mamma was the grand-danghter of 
a Brazihan nobleman ; the Brazilian blood is 
lava — so is mine. I married from the nur- 
sery ; I was dressing my doll when I was 
told Dr. Frhnly Mild may had proposed for 
me. Fancy such a young thing at the head 
of such an establishment as this ! Fancv 
me with my first baby — born before I was 
fifteen ! Fancy ! oh no, you never can fancy 
the wife, the mother Fve been ; how I, with 
this delicate organisation, this exquisite sensi- 
bility, this idiosyncracy, have not only con- 
ducted this establishment in a manner Avhich 
the best judges have pronounced miraculous, 
but have superintended the Doctor's comforts 
and my children's education. You are aware, 
Miss Blair, that Dr. Frimly Mildmay, having 
made mental disease the subject of the closest 
investigation and the study of his life, receives 
patients in all stages and degrees of insanity 
under this roof; well, Miss Blair, I make it a 


point of duty to Avalk through all the apart- 
ments every day of my life. I frequently di- 
rect the mode of treatment. I suggest the 
punishments to be inflicted on the refractory 
and violent, the indulgences to be granted to 
the docile and manageable. Delicate as you 
see me, and nervous and sensitive as I am, I 
am iron in the cause of Duty ; and I, wlio 
cannot bear to see a drowning fly or a crushed 
emmet, have myself ordered the ' cat ' and 
the shower bath, and stood by to see them 
inflicted thoroughly. I've twace the Doctor's 
nerve when necessary punishment is con- 
cerned; and there is not a patient in this 
establishment Avho is not more awed by one 
word of mine than by the celebrated and 
practised look of the Doctor, or the strong 
gripe of the keepers." 

Lucy expressed becoming surprise, and felt 
intense disgust ; but beginning to fear that 
this boasting egotist would never come to the 
point, or talk of anything but what she cou- 


sidered her own merits, she said : '' My time 
is short, as my mother is expecting me, and 
therefore I must ask you, Mrs. Frimly Mild- 
]nay, how soon, in case you think I should 
suit you, you would wish your children to 
commence with me ?" 

" Not at any rate for a month or six Aveeks, 
Miss Blair, as some of the patients have had 
the scarlet fever, or scarlatina, and the dread 
of infection for the children has made me 
send them all off to Southend, with two 
unices. The fever had not declared itself when 
I answered your advertisement ; the first 
symptoms shewed themselves this morning, 
and I no sooner heard of it, than I packed 
off the children and their head and under 
nurse. The Doctor, who is in attendance -on 
a noble patient in the country, will be sur- 
prised, indeed, when, after dinner, he expects 
to have the children come in to dessert, 
and hears they are all off to Southend; 
but I never vacillate or hesitate ; as soon as 


I resolve upon doing a thing it is done, Miss 

" And are you not afraid of the infection 
for yourself?" asked Lucy. 

" Oh, no! the patients were at once removed 
to the Infirmary, and every precaution taken ; 
but children always catch anything that can 
be caught, and I feel easy now they are 
gone. Would you like to take a turn in the 
grounds ?" 

Lucy, who saw several of the patients 
roaming about, apparently unrestrained, did 
not feel much inclined to venture, but Mrs. 
Frimly Mildmay led the way, and she did 
not like to appear timid, so she followed the 
Amazon up the centre gravel walk, and into 
the shrubbery, the lunatics scudding away at 
Mrs. Frimly Mildmay's approach — some 
with low moans, some with loud laughs, or 
wild shrieks and frantic gestures, dancing or 
rushing along, followed by their nurses, all 
long-legged, large-boned, active women, with 


liancl-cufFs anrl straight -waistcoats in their 
capacious pockets, ready at one moment to be 
slipped on the refractory. 

" I have no objection to make to you, Miss 
BL^ir," said Mrs. Frimly Mikhnay ; " I coukl 
wish, perhaps, that there were a Uttle more 
style, dash, and manner about you ; but you 
seem very well informed." (Lucy smiled, the 
egotist had not allowed her to say a dozen 
words.) " And if you will give me a refer- 
ence of distinction, and can wait until my 
children return from Southend, I shall decide 
on engaging you at a guinea a week for three 
hours a day." 

" I will consult my mother," said Lucy, 
" and write to you enclosing the name and 
address of my reference, if she is Avilhng I 
should attend you on those terms." 

" So be it, then," said the lady, as they re- 
entered the house. " A guinea a week is the 
utmost I would give to a person with so little 
dash, manner, and style, — and forgive me 


when I say your dress, manners, and conver- 
sation are very deficient in those, to me, im- 
portant requisites." 

Lucy bowed, but in her heart she rejoiced 
in that deficiency. She then took her leave, 
and the lady rang for the keeper-butler to 
show her out. 

As Lucy stood for a moment leaning against 
the wall of the house, while she fastened her 
boot-lace, which was undone, a bony hand 
was suddenly thrust through the grating of 
an underground cellar, or dungeon, in which 
some poor creature was confined, and the hem 
of her dress and a portion of the skirt vvere 
drawn into the cell ; while it seemed to her 
excited fancy, that the owner of the hand 
said in a hissing whisper, '' Lucy Blair ! Lucy 
Blair, save me ! save me !" But the next in- 
stant her dress was released. 

She heard the cut of a heavy wliip dv- 
scend on the poor ])ony fingers, and a yell of 
rage and pain succeed the hissing wliis})ei'. 


AYlien she looked at the dungeon bars no- 
thing was to be seen. A keeper had forcibly 
withdrawn the poor maniac ; but Lucy, as 
she passed out of the iron gates, fancied she 
heard her own name yelled aloud, by a voice 
that issued from that dungeon, and thought 
she distinguished the words, " Lucy Blair ! 
Lucy Blair ! Save me, save me !" but as she 
paused to listen, the great iron gates were 
locked behind her ; and Lucy, that cry of 
agony still ringing in her ears, but uncertani 
whether it was a reality or fancy alone, made 
the best of her way back to her mother, w^ho 
was awaiting her return in intense anxiety. 

Mrs. Blair was much amused at Lucy's 
account of both her interviews, and comforted 
herself with the hope that she woidd not 
attend either the Mastermans or the Frimly 
^lildmays in the capacity of daily governess, 
but that the sum she would receive for her 
tales and reviews would encourage her to 
devote herself entirely to literature. 


" You know, darling," she said, '' this is 
the evening we are to go to the Haymarket ; 
so I have prepared a dinner-tea, and I hope 
that, like myself, you feel in pretty good 
health and spirits, and that we shall thoroughly 
enjoy so rare a treat as a good play." 

" Oh, I have thought of it again and again 
to-day, dear mamma. It is so delightful to 
feel sure of going by ourselves ! And that 
lor this one evening at least, we shall escape 
the infliction of Mr. Grinlay Snarl's pre- 

" As our ticket is for a private box, dear 
love," said Mrs. Blair, " I have, as you see, 
dressed myself in my best, and am quite 
ready. Perhaps while I make the tea, you will 
be able to smoothe your^iair and put on your 
embroidered muslin, ^hich I have laid out 
ready for you, and I think we must treat our- 
selves to a cab for this once !" 

Lucy readily agreed, and retiring to her 
room, she rapidly iniide her sini} Ic ])ut 


elegant toilette. The berthe and hanging 
sleeves were of soft lace trimmed with sky- 
blue velvet, a blue convolvulus wreath adorned 
her rich hair, and when she re-appeared, her 
mother thought she had never seen her look 
more elegant and pretty. 

After the fatigues of the day Lucy thoroughly 
enjoyed her tea and a broiled fowl with mush- 
room sauce (the fowl and the mushrooms had 
been sent by Mr. Grinlay Snarl), and Dinah 
soon fetched a cab, secretly wondering the 
while, that Miss Blair's " young man" was not 
of the party, and assuring " Bob" she "wouldn't 
give thankye to go to the theatre without 
her young man." Mrs. Blair and Lucy set 
off and arrived at the Haymarket in good 
time, entering their box just as the cm'tain 
rose on the admirable and novel scenery of 
" The Overland Route," representing, as it 
does, in so perfect and life-like a manner the 
saloon of an oriental steamer, with the coolies 
at work at the punkahs, the ayahs, with their 


black faces and white teeth, running about 
after the white ladies, or the little blond 
English children in their charge. The pas- 
sengers' cabins ranged on each side, and the 
passengers themselves admirably realising all 
the vanities, the jealousies, the flirtations, the 
scandal, and the bickerings that are always the 
result of people being shut up together with 
nothing to do. 

Lucy, poor girl, had, we must own, enough 
on her mind, or rather on her heart, to sadden 
her, and the words she could not drive from 
her mind which she fancied she had heard at 
the BKssful Retreat, "Lucy Blair! Lucy Blair! 
save me 1 save me !" rang in her ears, she 
scarce knew how or why. When she mentioned 
the subject to her mother, Mrs. Blair felt cer- 
tain it was a delusion, and Lucy juried to think 
so too. Then, alas ! no tidings of Henry Gre- 
ville's safety had reached her as yet, and tlie 
troth-ring which she wore on her bosom every 
now and then suggested doubts whicli were 
instantly banished as unworthy when she re- 


membered the truth and the tenderness which 
had won her love. Dark and dreary indeed 
was the future spread before the poor daily 

On one hand, Grinlay Snarl as a relentless 
task-master, and all the trials that await the 
slaves of the pen, and indeed all who live by 
the sweat of the brain; and worse still, a 
prophetic certainty that he. would propose ere 
long, and on her refusal withdraw his patron- 
age. On the other side the unprogressive 
labour of teaching, the exposure to all the in- 
clemencies of weather, to impertinences, to 
insult, the exactions and discontent of parents, 
the stupidity, sullenness, and disobedience of 
children, the jealous sauciness of servants, 
who, she had found by experience, delight in 
venting on the poor governess the tempers 
they are obliged to control before their em- 
ployers. All these things w^ere enough to 
occupy every mind, and sadden every heart, 
but yet Tom Taylor (interpreted Iw that great 


genius, Mr. Buckstone) drove all conscious- 
ness of anything but the richly humorous 
scenes before her, away from the young girl's 

Lucy was entirely absorbed by the comic 
misery of the runaway husband when first 
he discovers that the jealous wife he is 
fleeing from is on board, and passing as a 
gay widow ; nor is this all, or half his 
trouble ; for on taking a berth originally 
engaged in the name of another person, and 
that person a swindler, pursued by a detective, 
he is supposed to be that cidprit, and is hand- 
cuffed and watched, and tormented by the 
detective accordingly. 

Out of this excellent equivoque Mr. Buck- 
stone, well seconded by Mrs. Wilkins, makes 
some of the best fun imaginable ; and Lucy, 
with a keen sense of the sublimely ridiculous 
(and that is just what Mr. Buckstone is in 
this favourite part), was too nuich interested 



to give one thought to what was passing any- 
where but on the stage. 

She therefore did not see that every opera- 
glass was levelled at her ; among others, that 
of young Masterman, who was seated in the 
front row of the dress circle, exactly opposite 
to her. Nor did she perceive Stair and Strutt, 
who, from the stalls, were watching her, and 
indulging in feeble attempts at quizzing " the 
daily governess, out for a spree," as they said, 
with two ugly elderly young ladies, with long 
sandy curls and muddy complexions, small 
eyes, long red noses, wide mouths, and very 
retreating chins, dressed in Magenta-coloured 
silks, and wreaths of the same hue. They 
were cousins of Stair, and their father was 
very rich, and lived in Belgravia, though his 
" shop" was in Clifford's Inn ; they were the 
two Misses Trupp, Sarah Jane the silent, 
and Jemima the chatterbox, whom Stair and 
Strutt were escorting. 

"I- declare little Blair looks uncommonly 


well to-night," said Stair to St^utt, " but 
what a Guy old Blair has made of herself." 

" I've half a mind," said Strutt, '' to go 
and call on them in their box." 

*' If you do you'll come in for one of Blair's 
sermons," said Stair. " You remember the 
wigging she gave you in the park, old boy ?" 

" Yes, and I w^ant to pay her off and give 
her a lesson she won't forget in a hurry ; a 
pert little chit of a daily governess, setting 
herself up to lecture me !" 

" Well, if you return the compliment," said 
the youngest of the elderly young ladies, 
" we shall call you Blair^s Preceptor^ 

" Yes," giggled the other, " bound in cqlf ; 
but I put my veto upon it — I won't counte- 
nance any cousin of mine in showing himself 
at a public place in a private box with a 
daily governess." 

" But she is a stunning pretty creature, 
isn't she, Jemima?" said Stair; "a regular 
beauty, isn't she ?" 


" I never see any beauty in low people," 
said Jemima ; "I never take any notice of 
pretty shop-girls, or pretty governesses, or 
pretty maid -servants ; I think beauty would 
be quite thrown away on such persons." 

(Poor Jemima ! none of that precious mag- 
net had been thrown away on her.) 

''Oh, hang it!" said Strutt, ''3/Ou're too 
severe and too exclusive by half; you don't 
do poor little Blair justice. I assure you she 
was quite the belle of Hastings, the reigning 
beauty : all the men were crazy about her." 

" Yes," said Stair, " but that was before it 
came out that she was nothing but a daily 
governess ! Oh, by Jove ! didn't she and old 
Blair give themselves no end of airs ! They 
were at Bonvivant House, you know, Jemmy 
(Lady O'Blarney's), on a visit to a gaudy old 
creature that looked like a cook dressed up in 
her mistress's finery, and who passed for a 
widow. She spent no end of money, had hei' 
brougham and pair, and we all thought she 


was as rich as a Jew, when lo ! one day the 
old girl levanted, deep in O'Blarney's books, 
evanesced, made herself scarce, in short ; and 
little Bla r, who had gone out driving with her 
in her ' charrot and pair,' as the old lady called 
it, came back wet through, looking like a 
drowned rat, as I heard. I wasn't there, but I 
had it all from the Blands and old May, and 
with a cock-and-bull story that the old lady 
(Green Brown was her name) had been car- 
ried off against her will by a man who swore 
he was her husband." 

" And what then ?" said Jemima. " Oh, 
what fun ! Go on. What became of the Blairs?" 

" Why, they had to hook it ! O'BLarney 
seized all Green Brown's things, and gave the 
Blairs the sack, but not before old Slimy Coil 
— you know old Slimy — Monkey Slimy, as 
we call him at the office — had recognised in 
the haughty damsel, who held her head so 
high, and quite turned up her nose at your 
humble servant, a daily governess, whom he 


had often seen trudging along in all weathers 
with a cotton umbrella, a regular ' gamp/ 
and who taught the children of one of his 
clients, Sir George Hamilton Treheme, of 
Belgrave Square. Oh, wasn't it fun ! Well, 
w^hen all this came out, the women, who had 
been very jealous of little Blair's beauty, let 
out finely, and soon made the house too hot 
to hold her." 

" Oh ! how dehghtful 1 " said Jemima, 
" how I wish I'd been there !" 

" Ah," said Stair, " you'd have pitched into 
her with the best of them, I know !" 

The curtain at this juncture rose on the 
beautiful scene of the wreck of the steamer 
on the reef, and Jemima and her cousin were 
silenced by an indignant " hush" from several 
of the audience. Jemima, though she pro- 
fessed such supreme contempt for low people, 
above all for a daily governess, was only the 
daughter of a law stationer ; and Strutt and 
Stair, as we know, were nothing but clerks. 


But even they fancied themselves placed by 
Fortune on an altitude from which they could 
look down on a daily governess, and throw 
stones at her too. 

After the first act of the play was over, 
Lucy timidly looked round the house. She 
had not been to a theatre since that evening 
when she had visited the Olympic with Mrs. 
Green Brown, and she felt abashed when she 
saw how much attention she excited. 

Poor Lucy ! she had known very few of 
those pleasures which most girls of her age 
enjoy so freely ; and, therefore, as a compen- 
sation, her appreciation of any amusement was 
tenfold. Abroad she had occasionally fre- 
quented the theatres, when she happened to be 
located with her mother in some town boarding 
school instead of a suburban convent ; but 
otherwise, of what the world chills pleasures 
she had never tasted — a school f^te or ball, a 
distribution of prizes, or a play (got u]) by 
the pupils) was the extent of her dissipation ; 
and the brilliant scene before her seemed to 


her one of enchantment. As her eye wan- 
dered ronnd the house it fell on young Master- 
man, whom she instantly recognised, and who 
bowed so respectfully to her that she could not 
hut return the salutation. As she did so she 
heheld a tall gaunt figure just behind young 
Mr. Masterman; and she shuddered to perceive 
that it appertained to some person who seemed 
to be examining her through his jumeauw. This 
person started up as Lucy returned young 
Mr. Masterman's bow; and as he left the 
box Lucy's heart sank, for in his broad bent 
back and high shoulders she thought she re- 
cognised Mr. Grinlay Snarl ! When, in a tone 
of dismay, she confided her suspicion to her mo- 
ther, that lady, who did not at all share Lucy's 
horror of the reviewer, said she only wished 
it were so, they shoidd then have some one to 
call a cab for them, and see them into it ; but 
she felt sure that if Mr. Grinlay Snarl had 
been able to leave his party and get to the 
theatre at all, he would have come straight to 
their box. 


Lucy tried to believe slie might be mis- 
taken, and was again entirely engrossed by 
Buckstone's exquisite humour, when the box 
door, which was not quite closed, was pushed 
open. A. heavy creaking tread was heard. 
Lucy was sensible of an unwelcome presence ; 
she felt some one's breath on her shoulder ; a 
large face Avas poked betAveen her and her 
mother — a huge hand grasped her arm, and 
Grinlay Snarl exclaimed — 

" There ! what do you say to me for this ? 
I've given 'em all the slip, and here I 
am ! And, by the by. Miss Lucy, who was 
that young chap you were bowing to so smi- 
lingly just now ?" 

" His name is Mastennan," said Lucy, rather 
coldly, for she thought Grinlay Snarl had no 
right to question her in that tone. 

" Masterman ? eh ? Wh^re does he live ? 
Who is he ? How did you come to know 
him? I never heard you speak of him," said 
the Tbore. 


" Possibly not," said Lucy. 

" Certainly not !" said Grinlay Snarl, not at 
all pleased, and jealous rage and angry fire 
flashing through his spectacles. 

'' Tell Mr. Grinlay Snarl all about it, Lucy, 
my love," said Mrs. Blair, terrified at the idea 
of the patron's taking offence. 

" Oh, I have no wish to force myself into 
Miss Lucy's confidence," said Grinlay Snarl. 
" If she has secrets, let her keep them, I don't 
wish to pry into them." 

Lucy did not appear to hear, and Mrs. 
Blair grew very anxious, and Grinlay Snarl 
very sullen and silent. When the entertain- 
ment was over, he offered his arm to Mrs. 
Blair, and strutted before Lucy in high dud- 
geon. Poor Mrs. Blau* took an opportunity 
of saying to him, in a loud voice — 

" There's no secret in it at all, dear Mr. 
Grinlay Snarl. I'll tell you all about it if 
you'll come home with us and have a cup of 
tea. Do, to please me !" 


" To please you, certainly, Mrs. Blair," said 
he, very curious, and delighted to be asked ; 
and leaving Mrs. Blair and Lucy, he went in 
search of a cab. 

While he was gone, Strutt and Stair, 
passing with the ugly dandizettes (Stair's 
cousins), nodded rudely to Lucy, while Jemima 
eyed her from head to foot through her glass, 
and then burst into a titter. While doing so, 
young Mr. Masterman was seen approaching. 

" Oh," said Jemima, " there's that heau 
^argo7i, that handsome duck of a young Mas- 
terman coming to speak to us ! Only think, 
coz, he'll have five thousand a year ! What a 
catch he is ! Gracious me ! if he isn't going 
to speak to ' the daily !' He can't know Avho 
and what she is ; it would be but friendly to 
enlighten him." 

" I told you the men think no end of her," 
said Stair. " By Jove, she is a fine girl !" 

While this was going on, young Masterman, 
hat in hand, had approached Lucy, and po- 


litely asked if he might be allowed to call her 

" Carriage, indeed !" tittered Jemima, nip- 
ping Stair's arm. "Did you ever, well I never ; 
a ' Daily's ' carriage. I wonder what that's 
like ; a wheelbarrow I should think !" 

'' An advertising van, I should think," 
said Stair. " Those ' Dailies ' are always ad- 
vertising !" 

Lucy having replied, Avith thanks, that a 
friend was gone .to call them a cab, Mr. Mas- 
terman asked her if she had ever seen Miss 
Glyn, (in his opinion) the only young tragic 
actress of great power, beauty, and genius. 
Her Duchess and her Cleopatra are perfection, 
he said, but alas ! the tragic muse has now no 
temple in the land that gave birth to Shaks- 
peare ; when it has, Miss Glyn will be its 

While he spoke thus of our modem 
Miss O'Neil, Grinlay Snarl appeared, looking 
very angry and behaving in a very rude, 


pushing, bearish manner. He scowled at 
young Masterman, gave one arm to Mrs. 
Blair, forced Lucy to take the other, and 
dragging them along, handed them into the 
cab, and sprung in after them. 

They were no sooner gone, leaving young 
Masterman standing transfixed, his eyes fol- 
lowing Lucy, and his heart full of her image, 
than Jemima, on Stair's arm, went up to him 
and said : — 

I "La, Mr. Masterman, do you mean to cut 
me ? IVe bowed to you half-a-dozen times, 
and there you stand like Patience on a 
monument, smiling at grief." 

'' I beg your pardon," said young Master- 
man. " I really did not see you. How d ye 
do. Stair ? How are ye, Strutt ? Charming 
piece the ' Overland Route.' How inimitable 
Buckstone is ! Fine woman, Mrs. AVilkins — 
pretty face too ! Good night." 

" Stop !" said Jemima. " As an old friend 
of your ma's, Mr. Masterman, you mustn't take 


it amiss if I give you a word of information 
and advice. You won't be angry, will you?" 
she said, shaking her long sandy ringlets over 
her long red nose, as she looked sideways up 
in his face. 

" Oh, certainly not. What's it all about ?" 
said young Masterman, who knew Jemima 
Trupp as a bore and a busy-body. 

" Well, then, that young person that you 
were speaking to, have you any idea what 
she is ?" 

" Yes," said young Masterman. " She's the 
most elegant, beautiful, accomplished girl I 
ever saw !" 

" Do you know her name ?" 

"Yes! Miss Blair." 

" You astonish me ; you can't know what she 
is. You would never be seen speaking to her 
in public if you knew what she really is !" 

" Why not?" said young Masterman, tiuiiing 
rather pale, for he was in love with Lucy ; 
and Jemima looked as if she knew something 
very dreadful indeed about her, and so did 


Stmtt and Stair. " What is she ?" he asked 
again, in a trembling voice. 

" Oh, what would your dear ma, and still 
more, your pa, who is so very particular, say 
to see you talking with her in public ; and 
your sweet sisters too !" 

*' What do you mean, Miss Trupp ?" said 
young Masterman. " What is there against 
Miss Blair ? Whatever it is, I don't believe 
a word of it. But what is it ?" 

'' What is it ? oh, my ! Why, she's " 

" Well, what is she ?" 

" Why, she's a Daily Governess !" 

"Ha! ha! ha! Is that all?" said young 
Masterman, much reheved. " Is that really all? 
Why, I knew that as well as you do ! She is 
a Daily Governess, and so much the more 
praise and honour are due to her, both for the 
great talents that enable her to be a Daily 
Governess, and the filial piety that induces 
her to exert those talents for her mother's 
support. I admire her all the more for being 


a Daily Governess, and I only know if I 
were a Duke, and she'd have me, which I 
doubt, she should not be a Daily Governess 
long — she should be a Duchess ; as it is, there 
is not a more thorough-bred lady in the world. 
And as for beauty, I'm certain nothing has 
ever appeared equal to her." 

'' Well, I shall tell your ma and your pa of 
this infatuation as a point of duty ; I shall !" 
said Jemima. 

" Why, they're of the same opinion about 
her," said young Masterman. 

" They 1" screamed Jemima, " do they know 

" Yes ; she was at our house to-day," said 
he, delighted to mystify the odious Jemima. 

" Oh, if they approve, I've nothing more to 

" Nor I — except good night !" and he 
passed on. 

" I think he is not quite right here," said 
Jemima, touching her head significantly. 


" Old Masterman himself is very queer, you 

" Oh, hang it, coz," said Stair, '' if his head 
is turned, it's little Blair has turned it, and 
no wonder ; she is a deuced fine girl. As 1 
told you, all the men at Hastings were crazy 
about her. Hang it, governess or no gover- 
ness, as Masterman says, nothing ever came 
near her for beauty. If I thought I'd a 
chance, I'd propose to her myself!" 
" Hang it, so would I !" said Strutt. 
They were very great imitators, particularly 
of any one w^ho was, in their own slang, " a 
cut above them ;" and that Masterman was. His 
rapturous praise of Lucy Blair had raised her to 
a very high pinnacle in their favour ; and ]\Iiss 
Triipp and Jemima Trupp, inexpressibly dis- 
gusted, instead of taking them home to supper 
(as they had intended), coldly wished them 
good night after they had handed them into 
their brougham, and Strutt said to Stair, after 
the carriage had driven oil': — 



" Confound it, there's a sell. I'd made 
sure of a spread. Let's go and have some 
oysters and porter." 

" Yes, hang it, come along ! But it's a 
deuce of a bore — old Trupp gives such capital 
suppers, and no end of old port. Hang it !" 




Grinlay Snarl did not exchange a word 
with Lucy during the short drive home. His 
heart was sweUing, but his tongue was tied — a 
sure symptom of jealousy. 

Dinah had got a cheerful fire and a merrily 
singing kettle to welcome the ladies. Dinali 
was easy in her mind when she saw that Miss 
Lucy's " young man " was of the party ; she 
concluded, of course, that he had been with 
them to the theatre — to go to a play without 
one's young man was preposterous, in Dinah's 

N 2 


The tea was nicely set out, the room was 
ill perfect order ; the red lire hght threw a 
\^arm glow on the w^alls, and every thing 
looked snug, cheerful, and cosy, except Grinlay 
Snarl, who, every now^ and then, shot green- 
eyed rays of jealous rage at Lucy, and behaved 
with so much hauteur and mock dignity, that 
Lucy could not help bursting out into a fit of 
irrepressible laughter. This, of course, increased 
Grinlay Snarl's indignation, and as the more 
irate he was, the more ludicrous he appeared, 
so the more impossible she found it to check her 
laughter, and she made some excuse about 
taking olf her opera cloak, and hurried into 
the adjoining room. 

When she was gone, Mrs. Blair said, " I 
am afraid you are not well, Mr. Grinlay Snarl. 
You don't seem in your accustomed spirits." 

" I never was better or merrier in my life, 
ma'am," he replied ; *' and it's not Miss Lucy's 
airs or ridicule that can affect my health or 


" Lucy's airs or ridicule ! Oh, Mr. Grinlay 
Snarl, how much you wrong the dear girl T 

" Maybe you didn't hear how she snubbed 
me, when I asked her who that young fello^v 
was to whom she was bowing — the same I found 
talking to her when I came back from calling 
a cab. I dare say Miss Lucy thought I'd no 
right to inquire ; but I have presumed to 
feel and to evince so great an interest in her, 
that I own I thought myself privileged. 1 
beg to apologize." 

" Oh, pray don't speak so,'' said poor i\lrs. 
Blair, in tears ; " you are privileged. There 
is no secret about that young man, or rather 
only one, which I know you will think re- 
dounds to Lucy's credit." She then told liim 
who and Avhat he was, and added, " that Lucy 
was so afraid she might fail as an authoress, 
and her mother, whose health prevented her 
doing anything to maintain herself, come to 
want, that she had not been able to rest, until 
she had secured some other source ut" prolit , 


but knowing he, Grinlay Snarl, did not like 
the idea of her teaching, she had wished him 
not to know anything about it." 

"And you're sure that's all ?" said Grinlay 
Snarl ; " you're sure there's nothing between 
them — that he admires her is evident ; but 
you don't think she's taken with him ?" 

*' Not in the least, my dear sir ; I am certain 
she thinks nothing at all of him !" 

Lucy came in at this moment. 

" Come, darling," said her mother, " shake 
hands with Mr. Grinlay Snarl, he thought you 
spoke very sharply to him." 

" I thought he did so to me, manmia," said 
Lucy ; " but if he'll meet me half way, there's 
my hand." 

Lucy was not at all prepared, nor was Mrs. 
Elair, for the bound or leap with which Grin- 
lay Snarl sprang from the American rocking- 
chair, to seize Lucy's little extended hand. 
There were tears in his eyes, poor fellow, but 
he said nothing ; and Lucy began to pour 
out the tea, and by degrees they discussed the 


play and the performers, and this first quarrel 
was made up. 

After tea, Grinlay Snarl observing that it 
was not ^ery late, and that they were none 
of them tired or sleepy, asked Lucy, if she 
had written the second portion of her tale, to 
read it to him ; and Lucy, who wished that 
ordeal over, complied at once, and read as fol- 
lows : * 

lucy's story continued. 

" As I said before, I am neither a ' pry ' 
nor a ' blab,' but I did see many a ' douceur ' 
pass from the dirty hands of the purveyors of 
funerals into the gripe of avaricious old Winny, 
and the result was generally to be traced in 
some extra charges whicli tlie bereaved ones 
were too nuich blinded by their tears to note, 
or too much prostrated by their grief to dis- 
pute. I am not going to enter into mimitc 
details of the life T led with that old Winny. 
Horrors are to the mind what drams are lo 
the body. But oh, what I could unfold ! 


"For miles and miles aromicl, among the 
humble classes, and even among some of the 
gentry, whenever any one was supposed to be 
dying, or actually dead, old Winny, the ' Death 
Watch,' was called in. 

"As I was never discarded, for Winny 
never lost, mislaid, or wasted anything, I was 
the reluctant witness of many a ghastly scene ; 
accessory, in some measure, before and after 
the fact, to many a murder. For though old 
Winny used to mutter to herself, that to help 
a poor creature out of his misery when 
his doom was sealed, and when the doctors had 
given him over, was not miu-der, yet as while 
there's life there's hope, and many do recover 
when given over and deserted by the doc- 
tors, who had not a chance till then, I opine 
that old Winny was an arrant murderess. 

" And to my thinking, ' Sairey Gamp ' and 
' Betsey Prigg,' over whom I have heard 
royal readers laugh heartily, were angels of 
mercy and patterns of honesty, compared to 


the remorseless old hag in whose sei-vice my 
luckless fall had thrown me. Before I had 
been very long in old Winny's service, I had 
discovered that she possessed two hoards — • 
one of money, which, when out of employ, 
she delighted to count over at night in her 
wretched hovel; one of little relics, love 
tokens, treasures of affection which the dying 
had implored the survivors to bury Avith 
them : wedding-rings abounded in this awful 
old canvas bag. Winny dehghted in wedding 
rings, and used to chuckle as she said, ' Stan- 
dard goold, standard goold !' and she had 
mosaic gold rings, worth a few pence, to sub- 
stitute when she suspected that a conscienti- 
ous fortitude might nerve the survivor to see 
the cofhn-lid screwed down on tlie heart's 
darling. But Wiiuiy knew few couhl stand 
that. In this terrible bag there were lockets 
containing hair, sonic of young lovers, sonu^ 
of young children, t.'ikcu fi'oin cold bosoms 
that could not feel their loss; and broken 


}3liglit coins ; and little gold ear-rings, plucked 
from the dull cold ear of death ; and even 
artificial teeth, stolen for the gold in which 
they were set ! 

" Then, too, old Winny had scores of pocket- 
handkerchiefs, night-dresses, night-caps, che- 
mises, — whatever was worn at the awful 
hour, Avas Winny 's perquisite ; and she helped 
herself to whatever she safely could ; and 
at such times peculation was easy. Be- 
sides, no one suspected Winny. She had 
such a character — she professed so much reli- 
gion — she was so very poor ! 

" Had she not been honest, with her oppor- 
tunities she might have been rich ! Many a 
poor young maid lost her place, and many an 
old relation was suspected, when, 

* The first wild burst of anguish 
' Having wept itself away,' , 

people began to look over inventories and put 
things in order. But Winny was never sus- 


pected. Winny lived in a hovel not far from 
the cottage where she found me ; but though 
her head-quarters were there, she made ex- 
cursions in what she called the dull season — 
which, she said, v^rith her was not the dead 
season — to any place where she heard she 
would find employment. She had a half- 
witted grand-nephew, past thirty, I believe, 
though, as he wore a pinafore, sucked his 
forefinger, was unable to speak distinctly, 
and was a great lubberly, hideous baby in his 
ways, it was difficult to guess his age. But 
that he was not very young might be pre- 
sumed from the fact that he had lost some of 
his teeth, and was bald on the top of his head, 
and moreover, what ragged liair he had was 
grizzled. But it is remarkable in people of 
defective intellect liow soon tlie body decays ; 
it is as if tlic mind, wliich cannot grow old, 
kept the body young and fresh. A man of 
genius is youthful at thirty, and an idiot is 
old at that age. 


" But his ways were those of a dirty, un- 
toward, mischievous child. His fits of passion 
were frightful ; his appetite insatiable ; and 
often nothing could reduce him to order 
but a dog-whip, which his old aunt used to 
administer with what seemed to me great 
cruelty ; for often after one of her floggings 
he either could not, or would not, cease to 
moan and whine for a day and a night. Oh, 
what a change for me ! I who was created for 
the bridal cushion of a Queen — T who had 
often nestled in a royal bosom, been couched 
on lace and satin, been lapped in luxury where 
the air was perfumed, on which sweet music 
ever floated ; where words of wit, or love, or 
wisdom were echoed by the light laughs and 
merry sallies of the maids of honour ; where 
rich banquets were spread, while the inspiring 
band played the most delicious music, and 
piles of tempting fruit and fragrant flowers 
adorned the table ; and every Grace and Virtue, 
and Art and Science met and shook hands, — 


yes, I who was created for scenes like these, I 
was now doomed to herd with Winny Watch 
and her idiot nephew in her sordid hovel, 
follow the hag to the homes of the dying and 
the dead, and attend her when the old archer 
having brought down all he meant to 
aim at in her own immediate neighbourhood, 
she, and perhaps others like her, were off to 
more profitable scenes, where they might, 
' like reapers, descend to the harvest of death/ 
On these occasions Noddy, the idiot nephew, 
always accompanied his ghastly great-aunt ; 
and once or twice it struck me, either that a 
light of some kind had broken in on his brain, 
or else that he was not quite the idiot he ap- 
peared. The liovcl inhabited by Winny was 
on the lonely extremity of a heath-grown com- 
mon. Her sordid misery and reputed poverty 
A^'crc her safeguards ; and yet at that very 
time she had hoards, for a tithe of which she 
would have been murdered had it hvvw sus- 
pected she possessed them. Hut the fact that 


old Winny was a capitalist was known only 
to herself, to me, and, as it proved in the 
end, to one more — her nephew Noddy, the 
idiot ! 

" During Winny's long absence — in her ca- 
pacity of nurse of the dying and layer-out of 
the dead — Noddy, basking in the noonday sun 
on that wild heath, had formed a sort of ac- 
quaintance with a gang of gipsies who had 
pitched their camp in a hollow out of sight of 
Winny's hovel. One of these wild wanderers 
was a very handsome, bold, vicious girl. She 
approached Noddy, who was munching some 
fine jargonelle pears and Jeanneton apples that 
grew in the garden of his aunt's hovel, and 
any one who had beheld him invite her to par- 
take, and heard what passed between them, 
would have seen either that the ' heart in wak- 
ing woke the mind,' or else that Noddy, for 
some reason of his own — perhaps to avoid 
being put to any kind of work — pretended to 
be a great deal more idiotic than he really was. 


However this might be, it was a vile intelli- 
gence that occasionally hghtecl up his small 
dull eyes (with their outward squint) ; and the 
influence the handsome, nut-brow^n, dark-eyed 
sibyl exercised over him was a very evil one. 
She was not exactly a gipsy, at least not of 
pure race ; she would have been in some re- 
spects better had she been so. She was what 
is called ' a mugger ;' but she had black eyes, 
white teeth, long dark-brown hair, thick and 
wavy ; and though her feet were spread from 
walking barefoot, her short brown petticoat dis- 
played a fine leg, and her old scarlet bodice was 
fitted to a slender phant waist and ample bust. 
She professed to tell fortunes, and she told 
Noddy's. He understood her too ! He who 
never seemed to understand a word his iAd 
great-aunt spoke to him, — he who was every- 
where shunned and scouted as * Niddy Noddy/ 
" Ere long old Winny missed a plain gold 
ring — ' standard goold,' as she murmured — 
from one bag, a locket too ; and worse still, a 


half sovereign ! It never occurred to her to 
suspect ' Noddy/ who seemed more stolid and 
stupid than ever. She knew there were gipsies 
near, but she felt sure, had they discovered her 
hoard, so craftily concealed it seemed impos- 
sible, they would have taken all. She began 
to believe in the evil spuits she had so often 
pretended to exorcise, and to think the money, 
the ring, and the locket had been ' spirited 

" Winny had a male relative who kept a 
marine store shop in a back street in Sheffield, 
and this old man generally let her know when 
Death was very busy there. After the dis- 
covery of her loss, Winny suddenly resolved 
to start off for Sheffield. Part of the way in 
a waggon, and part third class in a train, would 
not cost much for herself and Noddy. 

" Noddy, who knew by a sort of instinct 
what was in the wind, had only time, while 
his great-aunt was packing up her bundle, to 
dart off to the hollow in the heath, where 


Maggie was crouching awaiting him, and has- 
tily to bid adieu to his mugger love. 

" But he had heard his great aunt mutter 
the word ' Sheffield,' and he knew w^here they 
were going, and he told Maggie. 

" Maggie comforted him wdth the assurance 
that she would not be long behind him. To 
muggers all places are alike, the only difference 
being that in some, the niral police, the ma- 
gistrates, and the constables are more vigilant 
than in others, and also that commons, heaths, 
and lonely green lanes do not abound in tlie 
vicinity of manufacturing towns. ' But I'll 
be there soon, Noddy^ for all that,' said she. 
' You're my young man, and if you 'oust got 
hold of the blunt you spoke of, we'd make a 
match on it, and I'd leave off tramping, and, 
may be, get a fine bonnet with a large brim like 
the ladies has and three great roses inside, and 
a pair of flowers by my cheeks, and a white jacket, 
and a blue petticoat, all flounces and small 
hoops to stick it out — in the fashion, tlio Paris 

VOL. III. o 


fashion. AVouldn't I look grand and fine, and 
take the shine out of most of the ladies !' 

" Noddy grinned as he stammered out, 
' Marry I ! Noddy be your measter !' Even he 
had a notion that in marrying that sharp, hand- 
some girl, he, that stunted idiot, would be her 

'' ' Yes,' laughed the girl, ' if you gets the 

" The idiot nodded, grinned, and stammered, 
c I'll be your measter !' kissed her, in spite of 
her resistance, and shambled off to his great- 
aunt, who was calling shrilly, 'Noddy! Noddy ! 
Drat the lazy loon ! The waggon's waiting at 

the corner of the road.' 

* * * * 

" How different this, my second journey, 
stuck in the white cambric handkerchief, that 
with a black stuff dress made the constant 
costume of Winny Watch, to that first one 
when, in the lace chemisette of a young and 
queenly bride, I was borne along by fleetest 


steeds, and in a fairy-like equipage. How 
slow, how jolting, how sordid to me seemed 
the waggon, how vile the bosom where I was 
compelled to rest ! How odious and degrading 
the third class, in which my high-bred self, 
Winny, and Noddy were penned like cattle. 

"However, we reached Sheffield at last. 
Dear, bright, busy, bustling Sheffield, the place 
of my nativity. 

" Here old Winny found plenty to do. 

" Death is very busy among the over-worked. 
One night Winny was sent for in a great 
Imrry to watch by a young girl in a brain 
fever. It was Lily Meeke. It seemed that 
one day — one Sabbath day — she was sitting 
alone, by that very stream in the meadows, 
where she had first mel Eugene. She wore 
tliat very pink dress Eugene Phipson had given 
licr, and which once fitted so neatly to her 
slight yet well-rounded form, but now hung 
about her ' a world too wide' 

" She was weeping quietly, and, as she 


thought, unwatched, but Mark Millar, who had 
been absent for some weeks, was gazing in- 
tently on her through the hedge. 

" Mark Millar had latterly been taken into 
especial favour by Lady Phipson, and Sir 
Croesus, who was a henpecked htisband, of 
course patronised any one his w ife smiled upon. 
The fact was. Lady Phipson had learnt from 
her maid that Mark Millar loved Lily Meeke, 
and had proposed to her : and she resolved, if 
possible, to get Lily married to Mark, in order 
that there might be an eternal barrier between 
her own Eugene and the hated and despised 
factory girl. 

" Lady Phipson had been staying at Vienna 
with her son, and there a very beautiful 
young Austrian countess, with an old castle 
and a dark forest all her own, had fallen in love 
with Eugene's handsome person and reputed 
wealth. The old castle and the forest did not 
bring in much ready money, and Louisilie, 
Countess of Altenschloss, was a Yevy dressy, 


extravagant widow of twenty, privately ad- 
dicted to gambling. However, she was very 
arch and elegantly simple in her manner, and 
Eugene, who was in love and unhappy, found 
comfort in her sympathy, and solace in her at- 
tentions. He never dreamt of love or mar- 
riage with her. He was an engaged man. 
He never thought of any love but Lily's. 
" The ladies soon understood each other. 
" Lady Phipson, who had herself been a 
factory girl, and who had all a parvenue's mean 
horror of low birth and poverty, hated poor 
Lily Meeke. She would have stopped at no- 
thing to destroy her ' insolent hopes,' and to 
marry Eugene to the young countess. i\Lark 
Millar was the tool she selected. She made 
Sir Croisus send for him to Vienna ' on busi- 
ness/ the business being to blacken and to 
ruin poor Lily, and make Eugene break his 
promise to lier and wed anotlicr. 

"Mark Millar, wildly in love, insanely 
ealous, and, alas, with strong passions and 


weak principles, was easily persuaded to play 
the base part allotted to him. Eugene knew 
nothing of Mark's passion for Lily, but he 
kuew he came from the very factory in which 
she worked, and he sent for Mark, and, as he 
thought, very astutely and adroitly (p6or young 
lover !) interrogated his false, remorseless lival. 
Mark Millar, prompted by Lady Phipson, said 
little, but implied much. He alluded to Lily 
Meeke, not as the drooping, saddened, pining 
girl she was, but as the gayest of flu-ts, the 
prettiest of coquettes, and ended by saying, 
' If she was not such a dressy, flirty, merry 
wench — if I thought there was any chance of 
wedlock making her steady, I'd marry her, 
for I do think it a thousand pities she should 
go wrong, as she must do at last, if she goes 
on flirting and gadding at this rate.' 

" Eugene grew pale and felt very sick at 
heart. Was it for such a flirt and coquette as 
this he was wearing away his noble heart, and 
grieving his devoted mother ? 


" While they talked together (Eugene Phip- 
son and Mark Millar), Lady Phipson came in. 
She saw the large tears in Eugene's eyes, and 
marked his blanched cheeks and trembling 
hands, and then she insisted on knowing all. 
And she was so kind, so tender, so gentle, .<f) 
forbearing ! And so was the beautiful young 
countess, who was her confidante ; and it was 
decided that Eugene should coldly request 
Lily Meeke to return his pledges, and consider 
herself and him free. He inclosed the broken 
rhig and the lock of golden hair he had worn 
on his heart. 

" Lady Phipson in that bitter hour said no- 
thing of another bride ; but that was to come. 

" It was, then, on his return from Viennn, 
that Mark Millar, stealing on poor Lily's soli- 
tude by the brook, conveyed to her Eugene's 
cold, haughty letter, and his pledges of love- 
Poor Lily! She had no hope left, for Mark 
took care to let her know that a beautiful young 
countess had su])planted her in l*]vig('ne's 


love. There was something so heai-trendiiig, 
so awful in the poor girl's despair, that Mark 
dared not plead his own cause, nor even allude 
to his own hopes. Indeed, when he saw her 
unquestioning and meek anguish, he repented 
of the base part he was playing. But it was 
too late ; Lily took from her bosom Eugene's 
treasured curl and the broken ring, wrote 
with a pencil the word 'Farewell,' and re- 
fusing to be comforted, went home, and — to 

" The next day Mark shuddered to find her 
place at the factory vacant. He inquired 
at the cottage; she was ill. The next to 
that ; she was worse. The third ; there was 
little hope. 

" It was on this night Winny was sent for, 
and I was again close to the hands that had 
helped to fashion me. How she was changed ! 
It was brain fever. And she talked wildly, 
and raved of Eugene, and of all that had 
passed between her and Mark Millar at the 


])rook. And then she talked of a hoard, a 
little hoard stitched into her pocket; her 
savings, poor child ! to be given to her grand- 
mother if she died. 

" And old Winny heard and grinned. The 
pocket was under the beautiful young head, 
from which the gold hair fell in disordered 
clusters. The poor grandmother was lying 
down, worn out with w^atching and weeping. 
Old Winny thrust her long bony fingers un- 
der that fair head, and drew forth the pocket 
of dark jean. 

"And there was a little hoard stitched neatly 
in, four sovereigns, two half sovereigns, and 
some silver, all in a paper, on which was writ- 
ten, ' Saved by Lily Meeke out of her weekly 
wages, and left to her beloved grandmother.' 
Winny took tiic little hoard, picked out the 
stitches, replaced the pocket, nuuiched ii|) tlie 
paper, and muttered — 

" 'Now I must do for you, my lass, or I've 
done for myself. If left to natur thcre'd he ii 


loocid interval before death. I must check 
that. I knows what'll prevent it, and send 
you off into a long sleep, from which you 
wake to tell no tales in this world. Til go 
and fetch it.' 

" And so, after putting all in order, smooth- 
ing the pillow, shading the lamp, placing the 
febrifuge by the bedside, and setting the 
kettle on the fire for her own tea, Winny 
hobbled away. 

" I may here mention, although I was not 
present, and therefore only knew it later, that 
after old Winny had been gone a few minutes 
in search of the vile drops that were to shut 
up for ever the sense of poor Lily, a tall and 
shrouded form passed the cottage window, an 
eager hand tapped at the door, which, no 
answer being returned, w^as hastily opened, a 
rapid step ascended the old stairs, and Lily 
Meeke, waking from a balmy, all-restoring 
sleep, in which reason had returned to her 
disordered mind, found Eugene Phipson sob- 


bing by her little snowy bed, and sank upon 
his bosom. 

" It seemed that after Eugene at Vienna had 
written the cold, cruel lines he had intrusted 
to Mark Millar, and returned the cherished 
tokens of poor Lily's love, a doubt, a dread, 
and a despair sank into his heart. There was 
something suspicious and revolting to him in 
the ill-repressed exultation of Lady Phipson, 
in the manner in which she began to praise 
the charms and virtues of the young countess. 
Lady Phipson was not thoroughbred ; she 
overdid her part. 

" A suspicion flashed across Eugene's mind. 
It was a lightning flash. The whole dark plot 
became visible. He dissembled; he praised 
the countess ; he dined in her company, witli 
his parents. She was in high beauty, and 
actually made love to liim. 

"She pressed his liand at ])arting, and 
said, ' Adieu, till to-morrow morniuL!^.' And 


in the dead of the night Eugene set off for 
England, and never stopped to rest till he 
had realized at once his hopes and fears, and 
clasped to his still faithful bosom his loyal 
Lily, the only darling of his heart. 

'' The sudden return of Eugene Phipson 
frustrated many schemes, and among others 
those vile and murderous designs of old 
Winny to snap the thread of Lily's young, in- 
nocent life, and cut off all hope of recovery, 
lest the poor girl should discover that her 
little hoard, her filial provision for her old 
grandmother, had been abstracted. Alas ! 
for what a sordid object, for what a miserable 
trifle, has a human life, a life that another 
would have given his whole estate, his very 
being to save, been often sacrificed ! 

" A^ile old Winny was in a sad dilenmia 
when, on her return with the dark and deadly 
drops in her pocket, she found Eugene in- 
stalled at Lily's pillow as head nurse, and 
Lily no longer wild, incoherent, tossing, 


with bloodshot eyes, and flushed, biirniii^L!; 
face, but pale, tranquil, tearful, and weak 
as a sick child. Added to all this, Eugene 
had sent for the family physician, who 
prescribed in a very different manner foi* 
one to whom the only son of Sir Cra?sus 
Phipson was devoted, to w hat the parish doc- 
tor had done for the poor factory girl. That 
pompous and overbearing Mr. Bluff had at- 
tached very little importance to the hfe of the 
])oor girl, Avho, in his eyes, was only one of 
some thousands. He had rudely ordered 
Winny to ' clip the young filly's mane.' It 
was thus he designated ' the loose train of 
her amber-flowing hair.' He was fond of 
horses, was Mr. Bluff; and, like the poi- 
soner Palmer, had a betting-book, and gloried 
in being thought a sporting man. 

" But Winny, who had resolved that Lily 
Meeke siiould not recover, had detcrmini'd 
not to rob ' the corpse,' as she alreadv con- 
sidered her, of so great an ornament. 


"She did not care for life ; but she took a 
pride in her profession : and there was a sort 
of taste, and even poetry, in the dreadful old 
Death Watch's manner of laying out a young 
virgin. And, while remorselessly determin- 
ing to make her death certain, she could not 
endure the thought of her being in any way 
disfigured, or of shearing the long golden 
tresses on which she depended so much to 
make Avhat she called ' a handsome coi-pse' of 
poor Lily. 

" She had already planned the chaplet with 
which she meant to crown her victim ; and 
the plaits which, knotted with spring flowers, 
were to be the admiration of the whole neigh- 
bourhood. Poor Lily ! as the vile old Death 
Watch returned, stretched out her wan hand, 
as she believed, to a kind friend and tender 
nurse, who canted out congratulations, while 
rage and disappointment burned at her cruel 
and base old heart. Eugene having quite 
resolved to watch Lily through the night, old 


Death Watch could not refuse to go home 
and he down for a few hours ; but she re- 
solved to bide her time, and hoped that sleep 
would overpower the 'young Squire' in the 
morning, when she would be able to carry 
out her deadly schemes. 

" ' To-morrow — to-morrow I'll do it ! to- 
morrow,' she muttered to herself, as she 
clutched the phial, with its few dark drops. 
At the door of Lily's cottage, old Winny 
found Mark Millar. 

" ' What hope ?' he sobbed. 

" ' None,' hissed the old hag. 

" ' Must she die ? Lily, the beautiful, the 
loving, the young 1" 

" ' She'll not see another sunset,' said 
Winny ; * but she's not too good for him as 
has sent for her,' added the old hypocrite ; 
* the fairest and best are not too fair or good 
for heaven. The young Squire is watching 
her to-night.' 

" * I know it, and curse him !' 


" ' Had you rather she hved to be his ?' 
asked Winny. 

" ' No ; I would rather a thousand times 
see her in her shroud.' 

*' ' Then you'll see that, and a bonnie sight 
too ; for oh ! she'll make a handsome corpse. 
I'll do her justice — I will, I will.' 

" ' And me too,' groaned Mark ; ' the same 
bell shall toll for us both/ 

" ' To-morrow ! to-morrow !' muttered the 
hag, as she hobbled away to the garret in the 
marine-store shop where she lodged. 

" Noddy, who, by her orders, had been out 
in the meadows and lanes to gather flowers 
for Lily's chaplet and coffin, was huddled up 
in a corner. He seemed fast asleep. 

" ' Well done, Noddy !' said old Winny. 
' A brave day's work 1 Beauties they are, 
too ! and long stems ! Not pulled off" by the 
heads, as he generally does.' 

" She took out of a drawer a bit of cheese, 
a piece of bread, and a stone bottle of gin ; 


supped; and still murmuring, ' To-morrow I' 
went to bed and to sleep. 

iv: ilr ^iJ -ijf 

" The next day Lily was so much better, 
that, w^hen Dr. Courtly met ^Ir. Bluff in her 
little room, they both agreed she was out of 

" Some days passed by, and with the rapid 
convalescence that attends a happy heart, she 
was able to go down stairs, and sit opposite 
to h*er old grandmother, who could scarcely stir 
from her chair. 

'' A little workhouse girl was sent, by the 
parish, to wait on the old woman and poor Lily. 
But Eugene spared her all trouble with regard 
to the latter. 

" It was about a week from tlie night of 
Eugene's return, that Lily, who felt lor every 
one, began to wonder jmd he a little uneavsy 
about her old nurse, Winny Watch. 

''She feai'cd, from lier absence, slie must 
be ill, nnd, by Eugene's advice, she sent 

VOL. Ill, p 


Lotty, the Avorkhouse child, to the marine 
store shop, where Winny lodged. 

" Lotty was gone a long time, and when 
she returned she was very white and trem- 
l)hng violently. Eugene, who had just as- 
sisted Lily to lie down, saw Lotty first, and, 
suspecting something dreadful, motioned to 
her to go out into the little garden and await 
liini. As soon as he saw the still feeble Lily 
close her eyes, he stole out. 

''The child was still trembling, and 'Eu- 
gene, though he was a strong man, trembled 
too when he heard her tale. 

"Old Winny, the Death Watch, about 
whom no one had inquired till Lily had sent, 
;nid who had not been missed, as her rela- 
tive had been from home, not answering 
Avhen Lotty had knocked at her door, was 
presumed to be ill, or dead, and her room 
was burst open. 

" There lay the old Death Watch savagely 
murdered, her head neurlv severed from her 


body— her hands frightfully cut, her gray 
hair dabbled in blood, her limbs distorted, 
her pockets rifled, her hoards gone, and the 
Avindow which looked on the leads wide open. 
Noddy, the half-Avitted Noddy, was gone. 

'' A hammer, a hatchet, and a rusty knife, 
all clotted with blood, lay on the floor ; and 
Mr. Bluff", who examined the body, declared 
the deceased had been dead a week. 

" I w^as, of course, a witness of the frightful 
tragedy I have just recorded ; but I had no 
power to enligliten the coroner or the jury. 

" I was present at the post-mortem exami- 
nation made by Mr. Bluff", who indulged in 
many a brutal, heartless, and untimely jest, 
over the mangled remains of the murdered 
Death Watcli. 

" Mark Millar was also present ; indeed, 
lie was among the first to enter the room 
when the door was forced open. 

" Mark had been watching for old A\ inny, 
in order to talk to her of Lily Mceke ; and 

p 2 


he had furtively picked up what had fallen in 
the struggle from the old Death AVatch's rifled 
pocket, and had rolled to the further corner 
of the garret — a small bottle of a dark liquid, 
labelled ' Poison.' 

" Mark hid the phial in his bospm. 

" That very day he had tried in vain at 
several chemist's shops to obtain what his 
diseased and wretched mind suggested would 
put an end to his torments. 

" He had no pious friend to warn him that 
it was the sure way to make them eternal. 

" Mr. Blufl* found me still attached to the 
blood-clotted neckerchief of old AVinny, and 
he took me out, and boasting that he was 
always a lady's man and liked to be gallant, 
and have a pin at the service of the fair, he 
put me into the lining of his waistcoat, and 
thus I was present at the prosy discussion, 
the hurried, horrible dissection, and when a 
verdict was returned of ' wilful murder against 
some person or persons unknown.' 


" Every one present, myself excepted, sus- 
pected that the marine store-keeper had had 
something to do with the mm^der of Winny 
and the abduction of Noddy the idiot. 

" But an alibi was proved, and circum- 
stances did not justify the authorities in 
proceeding against him. 

" No one suspected But I must not 


" The change was rather a pleasant one for 
me ; I saw something of medical and some- 
thing of sporting life, and more than once I 
visited (still hid in Mr. Bluff's w^^istcoat) my 
lovely originator — the fair and convalescent 
Lily Meeke. 

" Lily was too dutiful ami too sensitive to 
consent to Eugene's earnest and passionate 
prayer for an elopement and a })rivate mar- 

'' Lady Phipson was ])r()U(l, and her pride 
was a vulgar piide, w liich showed itself in a 
haughty, insolent disdain of the rank from 
which she had risen. 


" Lily Meeke was proud, but her pride was 
the pride of virtue, modesty, and maidenly 

"All she granted to Eugene's entreaties 
was the hope of better days, the promise 
never to wed another, and the pledge to be 
his, if ever, with his parents' consent, he 
claimed her hand, or if, in the long future 
before them, he were ever his own master. 

" Forced to be content with this little all 
of hope and comfort, and finding that, if 
he did not see Lily daily, his impatience must 
render his life miserable, Eugene returned to 
the continent, but not to Vienna. 

"Indeed, Sir Croesus and Lady Phipson 
were obliged to hasten back, the former to his 
business, the latter to her beautiful villa, 
where the menials (all eye servants, for she 
made them so by her suspicion, her distrust, 
her galling pride and cruel exaction) 
were carrying on the farce of ' High Life 
Below Stairs,' giving parties in her state 


rooms ; Cook, arrayed in one of her mistress's 
turbans and velvet dresses, presiding at tlic 
card table, and the younger maids, in her 
lighter dresses and wreaths, thum_ping on her 
* Cottage grand,' polking in her ball-room, 
and lolling on her yellow satin sofas. 

" I heard of these saturnalia when I called 
with Mr. Bluff to attend her ladyship in 
a stroke or fit caused by rage at finding a 
servants' ball going on at Bullion Villa, when 
she suddenly returned to take them by sur- 
prise, or, as she said, ' catch them out.' 

" Every delinquent was dismissed tliere 
and then ; and if it was very inconvenient to 
them to be turned out on a rainy midnight, 
they consoled themselves with the idea of the 
misery the family would endure, and the 
shifts they Avould have to make, before sub- 
stitutes could be found; how Mrs. Tinsel 
(my lady's woman), wlio was lady's inaicl and 
housekeeper, would have to make her own 
tea and toast her own muffins ; and Ikjw the 


l)utler, who had been away for a holiday, 
would be obliged to brush his ow^n coat and 
black his own boots. 

" For some time Lady Phipson was in great 
danger. She was a very stout, florid w^oman, 
of a very full habit, much addicted to the 
misnamed ' pleasures of the table/ 

" She had travelled night and day, in very 
bad weather, to surprise her ' treacherous me- 
nials,' when, on the receipt of a letter from 
Miss Peer (an humble friend and toady), she 
had heard what that lady had discovered, 
which was much, and Avhat she suspected, 
which was more. 

" Eugene could not be written to, for no 
one knew his address, He was Avandering 
listless and almost heart-broken among the 
ruins of Italy, while his mother ' with Death's 
dark Angel lay contending' at home ; that 
mother, who, Avhatever her faults, was inex- 
pressibly dear to him, and who had made him 
the object of all her pride and tenderness for 
three-and-twenty years. 


''However, the Destroying Angel passed 
over Phipson villa, and Lady Phipson did not 
die. But the fit, which was a paralytic one, 
left the late proud and portly dame in a 
state compared with which death would have 
])een a blessing. 

'' One side of her handsome face Avas 
frightfully distorted. The corners of the 
mouth were drawn up, those of the eyes down, 
until they almost met. Her speech Avas inar- 
ticulate, and one whole side was deadened 
and powerless. 

" Nothing remained of her former self but 
her imperious manners (pitiful to behold 
then), her furious bursts of anger, and her 
passion for forbidden dainties, which made 
her try to dash at her attendants' heads 
the water-gruel and the weak tepid tea 
which alone they were permitted to give 

" It was while Mr. Bluff was in daily at- 
tendance on Lady Phipson, performing for her. 


under the directions of several eminent con- 
sulting physicians, all the offices which in her 
helpless state devolved on a general practi- 
tioner, that he was summoned to another 
coroner's inquest. 

" ]\Iark Millar had been found dead in his 
bed, with a bottle labelled 'Poison,' and 
smelling strongly of opium, by his side. 

" Several clerks and workmen, connected 
with the factory, gave evidence that for several 
weeks Mark Millar had been moody, silent, 
morose, subject to alternate fits of deep me- 
lancholy and violent rage, and that they were 
afraid that love for Lily Meeke had crazed 
him. Of course Mr. Bluff soon decided 
that he had died from the effects of lau- 
danum, and the verdict was that ' the deceased 
destroyed himself while in a state of tempo- 
rary insanity.' 

" Mr. Bluff, as he examined the poor 
crippled body of one who had loved *not 
wisely, but too well,' indulged in some un- 


seemly jokes at his expense, and wound up 
by saying— 

'Yet spite of all that nature did 
To make bis uncouth form forbid. 
This creature dared to love !' 

And then, as Mark Millar had no relatives, 
orders were given for his interment ; and as 
he left a ' pretty penny,' the funeral was a 
handsome one. 

" After it was over, a lawyer produced 
a will — made a year before — properly wit- 
nessed, signed, and sealed. 

" By this will, Mark Millar left three thou- 
sand pounds (the savings of his laborious life) 

to Lily Meeke. 

*- * *- * 

" One day that Mr. Bluff was flirting with 
a fair patient, who had caught cold at a ball, 
and who wanted a pin to adjust a pink bow 
in her white wrapper, I was proffered — aiul 
thus parted company with Mr. Bluff'. 

"There was nothing thrifty in the young 


lady who became my mistress. She dropped 
me at night, when she removed the bow, 
and the next day I was picked up by Susan, 
the maid, w^ho stuck me in the neat Httle pin- 
cushion she wore at her side ; and she being 
about to be married, I remained there till her 
Avedding day, wdien I went to church Avith her, 
in the neat white shawl folded over her happy 
country heart. 

" What a contrast to the wedding for which 
I was created ! But a wedding is always in- 
teresting, always solemn ; and a bride's blush 
has a charm, whether it mantles the cheeks of 
the loftiest or the lowliest maid. 

" Susan was very pretty, Hodge was very 
much in love, and in the hearty embrace 
with which he clauned his bride, and swore 
he would have the first kiss, and in her mo- 
dest struggle to keep him off till ' his Rever- 
ence's ' back was turned, I was displaced and 
fell (my second fall in life) to the vestry floor. 

'' Hodge's heavy foot trod me into a crevice 


of the worm-eaten floor; and days passed, 
and weeks and months, and finally years ; and 
still I lay in that quiet retreat, when, one day, 
a new curate ordered the wife of the new 
sexton to give a thorough cleaning to the 
vestry. And as new brooms sweep clean, I 
was whisked out of my crevice, and stuck in 
the bosom of the sweeper's dress. 

" Thence I was taken, 'in the evening, by 
her daughter, a smart girl, who was come 
down to see her mother, from London, where 
she was employed, in the estabhshment of a 
court milliner, to hem seams and do some of 
the easy work {alias drudgery). In this girl's 
rather modish dress I went to town, and 
for a long time I was used in tackhig patterns 
and pinning endless seams to a heavy cushion, 
not so heavy, though, as the weary eyes that 
in the season seldom knew a night's rest. 

" One evening, after I had been some 
months at Madame La Mode's, the fevcrisli, 
palUd, drowsy gh'ls were roused to a iiiouien- 


tary ecstasy, by being permitted to give a last 
look at one of the objects of their joint labours 
and vigils — a court dress just then to be sent 

" It was very elegant and very costly ; but 
some little ornament required adjusting, and 
Madame La Mode asked for ' a pin/ I was 
handed to her, fixed in the trimming of the 
corsage, consigned to the Avicker basket (the 
modern 'wicker idol' of the fair), and sent 

" Home to Belgrave Square ! 

" The next day was the Queen's birth- day, 
and dull crowds were thronging to see bril- 
liant crowds borne in triumph to the drawing- 
room which Her Majesty held on the occasion. 

" I was aware that the dress in which I had 
been placed was destined for a bride, and 
there was something very bridal in the room 
in which I lay extended on a sofa. Bridal 
too were the gentle v/ords exchanged between 
a manly tender voice at the door of the 


dressing-room, and the soft, swest treble that 

*' The former urged speed, which the latter 
gently promised. 

" How milike the sharp summons and shrill 
retorts, I have heard, do pass on such occasions. 

" At last I was required, and in the cheval 
glass which reflected the rich dress in which 
I lurked, I recognised, radiant with love, health, 
and happiness, her whom I had known as Lily 

" Yes, virtue was rewarded ! Lily and 
Eugene were happy at last ! Old Lady Phip- 
son was not dead, but she was perfectly im- 
becile, a wretched, distorted cripple, with but 
one power left, that of satisfying her appe- 
tite for dainties of all kinds. 

" When his mother was no longer able to 
(>l)p()se him, Eugene easily persuaded his kind 
father (humbled and softened hy this terrible 
affliction) to see the virtuous maiden who had 
so resolutely refused to ])v his without his 
father's consent. 


*' Lily had then been two years in posses- 
sion of poor Mark's legacy, and that little in- 
come was spent in comforts for her grand- 
mother, and in improving herself. 

" Lily, dressed like a lady, and naturally so 
graceful, soon won the favour of Sir Croesus. 
The poor father wished to keep Eugene at 
home, and here was an omnipotent attraction ! 
He became almost as eager for the wedding as 
Eugene himself. 

'' There never was a happier marriage. The 
old grandmother had the income of Mark's 
legacy secured to her during her life. And- 
Lily Phipson, at the drawing-room, was the 
admired of all beholders. 

" That same day, Niddy Noddy was tried 
for the murder of his great-aunt, old Winny 
Watch, Maggie, to screen herself, having 
turned Queen's evidence against him. He 
was found guilty, but acquitted on the score 
of insanity — and was confined as a criminal 
lunatic during Her ^lajesty's pleasure. ]\Liggie, 


who had secreted some of the stolen hoard, 
was married to a brutal mugger, who, to get 
possession of it, beat her so savagely, that she 
died from the effect of the blows. 

" The court dress is picked to pieces ; but 
I, after being stuck in the white cockade of 
the christening cap of little Master Eugene 
Phipson, was destined to secure a silver paper, 
containing Lily's bridal veil, gloves, and bou- 
quet. There I presume I shall remain ; and 
while I do, there is nothing to add to the 
History of a Pin." 

When Lucv had finished readino- her storv 
Mr. Grinlay Snarl held out his hand for the 
MS., and said : " With such talent as you 
have shewn in these trifles, Miss Lucy, I 
tliink you need not trouble yourself any more 
about pupils. It is very annoying and dis- 
tasteful to me to think, when I feel ceitain I 
can secure you the means of earning a liveli- 
liood Avhile staying safely and quietly amder 

VOL. III. q 


your mother's wing at home, working under 
my direction, that you should be exposing 
yourself to risks and annoyances of all kinds, 
in the laborious and unprofitable profession of 
a daily governess." 

" But," said Lucy, " authorship is so pre- 
carious ; and for the sake of dear mamma, 
who, since she broke a blood-vessel^ has been 
ordered never to exert herself at all, I feel I 
ought to have something to fall back upon in 
case of failure as a writer." 

" Trust to me, Miss Lucy, I know of some- 
thing for you to fall back upon in any case, 
and I will take care dear mamma don't come 
to want." 

'' Do be advised by Mr. Grinlay Snarl, my 
love," said her mother ; " for I am certain 
he would not advise you to give up a sub- 
stance for a shadow.'' 

" Why," said Grinlay Snarl, " any one 
who has any regard for Miss Lucy, must feel 
annoyed to think that, owing to her going 


about offering her services as a governess, she 
is exposed to such an interview as you de- 
scribe Avith that impertinent, pedantic fellow, 
old Masterman, and to being accosted in 
public by that young puppy, the son ! Then, 
to think of her going off, in that head- 
strong way, to that confounded 'Bliss- 
ful Retreat,' — a lunatic asylum — of all 
places in the Avorld ! Well, to-morrow I hope 
to bring her a cheque for what she has done 
in the writing line, and I trust when she sees 
that she can coin her brain into sovereigns, 
we shall hear no more of the absurd adven- 
tures and misadventures of a daily governess. 
Good night, Mrs. Blair ; good night, Miss 
Lucy. It's all made up now, isn't it ?" and he 
took her hand. 

Lucy smiled as she said, '' quite !" aiul 
radiant -with tlie joy of this reconcihation, 
Grinlay Snarl hurried away. 




A pedant's letter. 

The next morning Lucy found on the 
lucakfast table a letter, in the crabbed hand 
of Mr. Masterman, senior. 

" Now, Lucy," said Mrs. Blair, " whatever 
advantages he may offer to secui'e your ser- 
vices, I will not consent to your entering into 
any engagement with that odious pedant, and 
"I am certain, from what I noticed last night, 
that your doing so would quite estrange and 
offend Mr. Grinlay Snarl ; let me hear what 
he savs, my dear?" 


Lucy read as follows : — 

Bedford Square, 
jN'ov. 185—. 
" My Dear Madam, 
" It is with a sentiment of almost reverential 
admiration for the analytical, synthetical, idiomatical, 
and practical knowledge you elaborated durinjx tlio 
examination or investigation to which you submitted 
with so graceful an amenity, that I venture to submit 
to you a proposal to enrol myself as your pupil in 
French, Italian, and German, for the next twelve- 
month. I opine that such an arrangement would ul- 
timately benefit my children more than a similar- 
amount of your invaluable instruction bestowed upon 
themselves. If you are so obliging as to accede to 
my desire, I should rely on secrecy, and would attend 
at your own residence for two hours daily. The ul- 
timatum or culminating focus of my ambition would 
be to speak French, Grerman, and Italian with your 
purity of accent, pronunciation, and construction, and 
to secure such a desideratum, I will at once empowei* 
you to name yourself the rate of remuneration. In 
case of your compliance, I should wish to inaugurate 
(if not inconvenient to yourself) my new enterprise 
to-morrow. And I beg to subscribe myself, INUadam, 
" Your most obedient servant, ; ,^ 

"Hector Mastermax." 

Lucy could not help laughing at tliis evi- 


dence of the triumph of knowledge over pe- 
dantry, but she readily agreed with her mo- 
ther that her receiving Mr. Masterman, or any 
other gentleman, as a pupil was quite out of 
the question ; and at her mother's instigation 
she at once wrote to him in the follo^ang 
terms : — 

" Deab Sir, 
" I am much obliged by the favourable opinion you 
express of my acquirements ; but not only it would 
not suit me to give lessons to a gentleman, but since 
I saw you I have altered my plans, and probably shall 
not accept of any engagement as a daily governess. 
" 1 am, Sir, 

"Yours truly, 

" Lucy Blaie.'* 

This decisive note written, Lucy was about 
to step out and post it, when, looking from 
tlie window to see what sort of Aveather it 
was, she perceived young Masterman walking 
uj) and down before the door ; and afraid of 
l)eing perceived by him, she hastily retreated, 
and sent her answer by Dinah. It was quite 


evident that Mr. Masterman,jun. was on the 
watch to accost Lucy directly she issued from 
the door, and this conviction kept her a close 
prisoner all day. 

Lucy was not vain ; she took no delight in 
useless conquest ; she felt convinced that 
young Masterman had, as the phrase goes, 
falle* in love with her; it was evidently a 
case of " love at first sight," and Lucy, so 
far from feeling the least elated at this tribute 
to her charms, thought only, " Oh, if that 
young man feels for me what I feel for Henry 
Greville, I could weep over the uninten- 
tional and irremediable evil I have done 

Lucy then set to work at her reviewing, 
and in the evening, just as she was making 
the tea, Grinlay Snarl arrived. He was in 
high good-humour and in boisterous spirits ; 
lie brought Lucy more works to review, and 
presented Mrs. Blair with a Perigord pie and 
a basket of grapes. 

2-32 m ri.3.T GOVKKSTESS- 

Mrs. Z :?ted on showing 

him Mr. M andacopT of her 

idinsaL He robbed bis hands, chuckkd. 
kn^ied, afanost diouted, as he cried — 

''''I snsped onr little Lucv^, mamTna^ has 
made a ocmqaesi of the pedantic noodle ; and 
if FiDiidraice should send fcM- Mrs. Masterman, 
cr he should think, like a second Epgene 
Anm, that in the cause of learning it might 
be justifiable to lemoTe any obstruction; we 
shall hare him entering the lists with that 
jaifanapes his son, whom, bj-the-bje, I saw 
fanking about this house when I knocked at 
the doGT. But I think th^ie's something 
better in slcxe for Mi^ Lncv than to be 
thrown awa^" on an ignorant pedant^ or a 
joung piq>p]r in patent leather boots;" and he 
gare Iau^ a look which made her crimson 
and tremble aD oirer, an eiidence of emotion 
which he of course misoonstnied. Xothing 
could exceed the hilaritj and good humour of 
Gnnlaj Snail during the whole eTening. 


He told Mrs. Blair that he had seen an un- 
furnished first floor in his own street, which 
was to be let for about half what she was then 
paying, and that as it was so conveni- 
ently near to his office, and so desirable in 
point of economy and space, he strongly ad- 
vised her as soon as possible to take it and 
put in enough furniture for present use, 
offering to be security with landlord and 
upholsterer, if any such guarantee should be 

Mrs. Blair, who always bitterly regretted 
the expenses of a furnished lodging, warmly 
thanked Grinlay Snarl, and promised to ac- 
company him the next day to look at the 
apartments in question. Lucy, however, was 
by no means anxious for a change of abode that 
would add new facilities to Grinlay Snarl's 
intrusion. She tried to catch her mother's 
eye, but in vain. Mrs. Blair was rather ob- 
tuse, and it never occurred to her to consuU 
Lucy at all about it. 


When Mr. Griiilay Snarl took his leave, 
he put into Lucy's hand an envelope, saying, 
" The enclosed squares accounts between us, 
Miss Lucy ;" and he hurried away before she 
had looked at the cheque. When she did so, 
an exclamation of delight escaped her. The 
cheque was on Ransom, Bouverie, and Co., 
Pall Mall, for thirty pounds. 




The next day Mrs. Blair, in spite of Lucy's 
arguments and objections, went, escorted by 
Grinlay Snarl, to look at the first floor in 

Street, and she was so delighted with it 

that she resolved, if she could coax Lucy into 
acquiescence, on taking it at once. Lucy, 
seeing her mother so flushed and so prepos- 
sessed, could not bear to thwart her, but 
listened patiently to the account of the large 
closets, the amj)Ie supply of water, the con- 
venient store-room, the neat kitchen, the lock- 


up safe, larder, coal-hole, and pantry, all to 
themselves ; and Lucy, ever ready at the 
noble work of self-sacrifice, gave in. Lucy's 
thirty pounds was to go towards furnishing, 
and at the end of the week they were in- 
stalled in their new residence. Grinlay Snarl 
had been all delight and activity in promoting 
this change. He had been perpetually back- 
wards and forwards between the new and the 
old lodging, helping to remove books and 
other portable articles; and Dinah, though 
she was in tears at the departure of the ladies, 
told Bob that " she was sure it was all right. 
Miss Blair's 'young man' had come forward 
as a young man as wished to act honourable 
by a gal should do, and if he was a bit 
elderly and no great shakes for beauty, he'd 
behaved handsomer than many a better-look- 
ing chap, and after all, handsome is that 
handsome does, and she hoped they'd be 
happy together." 

And now for some time in their new apart- 


nients Lucy and her mother had nothing to 
complain of but the constant " dropping in " 
of Grinlay Snarl, Avho, however, never came 
empty-handed, and kept Lucy so constantly 
and actively employed with her pen, that she 
had no time to trouble herself any more about 
teaching. She had written to Sir George 
Hamilton Treherne, thanking him for his 
kindness, but declining to renew her visits 
to Belgrave Square, and he had, in reply, 
repeated his offer of acting as reference, and 
had added that in case she should ever feel 
disposed to alter her mind, she would be wel- 
comed with delight by himself and his 
daughter Augusta ; he added that Lady Ha- 
milton Treherne was on the continent, where 
she intended to remain for a time, to carry on 
the education of the younger children, and 
that if Miss Blair could be induced to attend 
Miss Hamilton Treherne again, every thing 
should be arranged to her satisfaction. 

Lucy, however, was too fully occupied with 


her writing, and too anxious to comply with 
her mother's wishes, to think of resuming 
her attendance on Augusta Hamilton Tre- 
herne. It was lucky for her at this time that 
occupation of mind atoned in some degree for 
the aching void in her heart. 

No letter from Henry Greville had reached 
her, but yet she had been several times to 
Arundel Street, and two or three Httle notes 
of no consequence (one from a washerwoman 
she had employed, and another containing a 
grocer's prospectus) had been given to her, 
though Copley and his wife had nothing to 
do with the house, having been, both of them, 
fidly convicted, at the Central Criminal 
Court, of the crime of having murdered poor 
old Mrs. Bragge. 

Henry Greville's silence was the more per- 
plexing, because Lucy heard by accident that 
he was safe and well in Australia, and getting 
on tolerably as a sheep-farmer. 

This she ascertained from Cecil Sydney, 


whom she accidentally met one day within 
the Rules of the Queen's Bench, looking what 
he himself called very " seedy," and quite 
out at elbows. He wished to pass Lucy by 
unnoticed, but, associating him with Henry 
Greville, Lucy loould speak to him ; and she 
heard, to her great surprise, that not only had 
Cecil heard twice from him, but that he had 
expressed intense anxiety and alarm at not 
hearing from " a very dear friend." Cecil looked 
so meaningly, and spoke these words with so 
much emphasis, that Lucy felt sure he meant 
herself ; and at her request he gave her Henry 
Greville's address, and in return obtained all 
the intelligence she thought herself justified 
in giving him of that " regular brick," as he 
called her, " Mrs. Green Brown," adding (for 
Lucy did not say a word about her having a 
husband), " that if he did but know where 
she was, he'd make up to her directly, and if 
she'd have him, get him out of quod, and give 
him a new rig-out, he'd make her a kind hus- 


band : though she was some ten or fifteen 
years his senior, he did not care a hang for 
that; she had the tin, and was the best- 
tempered, best-hearted old gal in the world, 
and a deuced fine woman into the bargain !" 

When poor Lucy got home she sat down to 
her desk, and poured out her heart to her be- 
loved. She told him frankly all about the 
troth-ring she had given him at parting, 
having been seen by her exposed for sale and 
bought by herself, to he given to Jiim again 
lohen he explained, as she knew he could do, 
how he came to lose it. There was no pique, 
no doubt, no distrust in Lucy's love-letter. It 
was all frankness, confidence, tenderness ; and 
having posted it herself, and told him where 
to address any letter for her, she sat down to 
her work with a lighter heart and a sanguine 
liope of receiving, in due tiaie, a satisfactory 
reply from her affianced. 

It was while she was thus occupied, that 
her mother, being out for a short walk, the 


maid servant came in with a letter Avliich the 
postman had just brought. Lucy did not know 
the hand, but on opening it, she found it was 
from young Masterman. He said : — 

" Beautiful and beloved Miss Blair, I Lave waited 
till I had completed my twenty-first year before I ven- 
tured to address you by letter. On this day of my 
majority I come into a considerable property left me 
by an aunt, and I value it only through the hope that 
you will let me throw it with myself at your feet. 
Being independent, I have no reason to ask my pa- 
rents' consent, and yours will make the happiest of 
men of, 


Lucy, without a moment's hesitation, re- 
plied kindly and gratefidly, telling him she 
was affianced to another ; nor did she men- 
tion the offer to her mother until accidentally 
Mrs. Blair, looking for a receipt, found the 
letter, and asked her whence it came. 

VOL. in. 




All " through the winter" things went on 
cjiiietly. Lucy worked hard at her pen under 
(jrinlay Snarl's direction, and its proceeds, 
with her mother's quarterly ten pounds, en- 
abled them to live in tolerable comfort — but 
not more than this ; for the magazine that 
Grinlay Snarl had started (and in which he 
had put Lucy's Railway Adventure and her 
tale), after being advertised in every paper, 
and placarded everywhere in letters of monster 
size, and all the colours of the rainbow, went 


doAvn, down, down, every week (after the first 
month), and at last disappeared altogether. 

It was, therefore, only as a sub -reviewer 
that Lucy was now employed, and constantly 
was she at variance with Grinlay Snarl for 
not using enough " lemon -juice and cayenne" 
in her dish of criticism. However, unknown 
to him, and even to her mother, Lucy had 
begun a novel, in three volumes ; and to this 
la])our of love she devoted all the time she 
could snatch from the ungrateful task of 
working as Grinlay Snarl's sub. 

This novel gave her a new interest, a new 
hope, a new existence ; and she lived in her 
imaginary w^orld, and among her ideal crea- 
tions, a brighter and happier life than she did 
as a literary drudge under an exacting, fault- 
tinding task-master. 

And now the dreary winter and dull cold 
months of early spring had passed away, and 
Grinlay Snarl had announced that he meant 
to have a holidav on the last dav of Mav, for 


that day was his bu'thday. He proposed then 
to have a regular /e^^ on that day, and he in- 
vited Mrs. and Miss- Blair to drive down with 
him to the Star and Garter at Richmond, and 
dine with him at that celebrated hotel. Lucy 
liad great misgivings about the result of this 
holiday, for she had had no little -trouble, for 
some time past, in keeping Grinlay Snarl quite 
at that distance, and on those terms, which 
alone enabled her to tolerate his presence. 

For some weeks he had every day tried to 
approach his chair a little closer to hers ; 
once or twice he had called her " Lucy," a 
liberty she greatly disliked, although she did 
not know exactly how to show that it annoyed 
her, without giving offence. In the same way 
she felt uncomfortable at receiving the little 
presents he was always brhiging, such as 
some newly -invented pen, or .some wondrously 
cheap papers for authorship ; a bottle of that 
great desideratum — ^very black and yet very 
fluid ink ; a bunch of flowers bouoht in the 


street, or some such trifle. Lucy could not 
help feelmg that there was something lover- 
like in the manner in which these tributes were 
offered ; and yet she dreaded to offend, and 
to appear prudish, by refusing them. Then, 
again, he often presumed to meddle, advise, 
and even dictate, about her dress, her hair 
particularly, and to be very cheerful and 
elated if it was done in the style he admired, 
namely, in turban bands, with a plait placed 
like a coronet, round her head, and the rest 
of her abundant back hair in plaited loops 
behind. But he was very sulky if any other 
fashion was adopted. Altogether he was to 
Lucy a most tormenting and intolerable bore, 
and yet she was obliged to keep that opinion 
to herself, for its expression greatly distressed 
lier mother, whose delicacy of health had 
l)een increased by the thick fogs of a London 
winter and spring, and who felt the deepest 
gratitude to Grinlay Snarl for having supplied 
Lucy with re nunerative occupation, that pre- 


vented her being obliged to spend her days 
from home. 

Another dangerous symptom, in Lucy's 
opinion, was that latterly Mr. Grinlay Snarl 
had become very solicitous about his own ap- 
pearance, and anxious about his dress. 

Light kid gloves, patent leather boots, gay 
coloured ties, cosmetics, warm baths, hair-dye, 
and fashionable scents were all summoned, 
with the aid of a first-rate tailor, to make an 
exquisite of the elderly pedant. 

Never would he put on his spectacles in 
Lucy's presence ; he did not mind ]\L's. 
Blair's — but in Lucy's never. All these things 
considered, Lucy had a strong presentiment 
of evil resulting from the birthday to be kept 
at Richmond ; but her mother seemed all anx- 
iety to make it a real holiday to ]\Ir. Grinlay 
Snarl, and Lucy could not bear to disap- 
point or distress that beloved mother. 




Never did a brighter sun shine in a cerulean 
sky than on the morning of Grinlay Snarl's 

He gave no hint as to what year had had 
the honour of giving to the world so great a 
genius. He was too vain to tell the truth on 
this delicate point, and too proud to tell a false- 
hood ; but he always classed himself with Lucy 
and " young people," and spoke to and of Mrs. 
Blair as " the old lady," and " mamma ;" ;iiid 
Mrs. Blair, who saw everything connected with 


Grinlay Snarl couleur de rose, often assured 
Lucy that she beheved any appearances of age 
in him were deceptive, and brought on pre- 
maturely by study. It had been arranged 
between Mrs. Blair and Mr. Grinlay Snarl that 
he should call for them about twelve at noon 
in the brougham he was to have for the day. 
And Lucy, as she sat down to breakfast at 
nine, was rejoicing in the idea of three hours 
of security and freedom from him, when a note 
to Mrs. Blair convinced her she was out in her 
reckoning. It was from Mr. Grinlay Snarl, 
and accompanied some fruit, a fine tongue, 
and a box of sardines. It was only a little 
three-cornered billet, containing a few lines, 
whidli were as follows : — 

"My deae 'Mamma,' 

I find I cannot afford to lose three hours of my 
holiday, so I hope you will allow me, as it is my birth- 
day, to breakfast with you and Lucy. I shall follow 
my note immediately, and send something towards the 

Yours ever, and more than eyer, 

Geinlat Snael.'* 


Lucy had scarcely read the note through, 
when his heavy tread was heard. 

He was m tip -top spirits, his hair was fresh 
dyed, his handkerchief exquisitely scented 
with " Bridal Bouquet," he was all bran new, 
from his glossy hat to his radiant patent 
leather boots. 

His tie was sky-blue (his favourite colour), 
and he remarked, with pleasure not only that 
Lucy's hair was done in the style he preferred, 
but that her dress was of a pretty, light, fancy 
material, all blue and white. It was a dress 
her mother had bought her, and had insisted on 
her putting on for the first time to-day ; but 
Grinlay Snarl saw in its colour, only a wish on 
Lucy's part to please him ; and if the thought 
increased his affection, it did his vanity too. 

The three hours Avhich had to be got rid of 
before they were to set out, seemed three 
minutes to the lover and three months to the 
lady ; but they came to a close at last ; and 
Lucy, in her pretty blue and white mohair 


dress, her white bernouse cloak, lined and quilt- 
ed with blue satin, and her white straw hat 
turned up with black velvet, filigreed with gold 
braid, and a blue and white feather adorning it, 
was perfection in his eyes and to his heart also, 
since he fancied she had dressed herself w^ith 
reference to his well-known preference of blue 
and white. All the way to Richmond he was 
reciting poetry, principally his own ; this he 
never did except w^hen he was in boisterous 
spirits. Once or twice during the recitation 
of " Edwin and Angelina," he grasped Lucy's 
hand, but she withdrew it immediately ; and 
he admired her all the more for what he 
called her maidenly dignity and reserve, little 
suspecting that, independently of her natural 
modesty, he w^as insupportable to her, and 
still less imagining that she belonged heart 
and soul to another ! 

They walked in the park while the dinner 
was preparing, and Grinlay Snarl's gambols 
were more like those of a school-boy just let 


loo^e for a half holiday, than aught that even 
Hope, queen of vagaries, prompts to an adult 
admirer, more especially a reviewer, a book- 
worm, a pedant, in love ! He vaulted over 
hedges, he clomb trees, he chased the deer; 
he even tried to get Lucy to run races with 
liim ; but she, suspecting that this was a ma- 
noeuvre to get her away from her mother's 
side, pleaded fatigue, and would 7iot set off, 
though he repeatedly took his place on the 
green sward after compelling Mrs. Blair and 
Lucy to halt, and clapping his hands, said, 
'' One, two, three and away ! 

One to prepare ! 
Two to make ready ! 
Three and away !" 

An incantation which he had not pronounced 
since he was at Rugby (we will not, as he is 
in love, say how many a long year ago !). 

The dinner was excellent. Grinlay Snarl, 
tliinking nothing could be too good for this 
(lay of days, had given the master of the hotel 


carte blanche, and he had done full justice to 
the liberal order. 

They had one of the best apartments to 
themselves, and gay and talkative as Grinlay 
Snarl was before dinner, after the third 
glass of iced and sparkling champagne (Moet 
of the best quality), he became rather too hi- 

He exhibited talents which neither Lucy 
nor her mother had ever even suspected he 
possessed. He actually proposed to sing ; 
and though he was totally deficient in those 
two requisites, generally considered indispen- 
sable to a vocalist, a voice and an ear, he 
went through at least half-a-dozen of the Irish 
Melodies, " Black-eyed Susan," and " Sally 
in our Alley." He then suddenly wheeled 
the dinner-table into a corner of the room, 
and saying, " Come, mamma, come, Lucy, 
let's have a reel ! Away with melancholy ! 
and vive la bagatelle /" he seized a hand of 
each, and tried to drag them from the sofa j 


but finding them resolved not to trust them- 
selves with the huge, long-armed, excited 
giant, he rather rudely forced them to sit 
down again while he danced the sailor's 
hornpipe, as T. P. Cooke might have done, 
minus the grace and elegance of that won- 
derful individual. Once on his feet, there 
was no stopping him, particularly as an organ 
boy outside the hotel suddenly struck up a 
succession of lively jigs, polkas, and reels, 
and Grinlay Snarl suited his steps to eacli 
successive tune. 

At length, just as the astounded waiter , 
came in with the tea, and with a request from 
the " party " in the room underneath, tliat 
the gentleman would not bring the ceiling 
down on their heads, he threw himself on 
the sofa which Mrs. Blair and Lucy vacated 
at his approach, and saying, " Make haste and 
give me some tea, Lucy, there's a dear girl, 
for I'm dying of tliirst !" he began to sing in 
a drowsy voice, '' I'd be a butterfly, born in a 


bower," but before he came to the end of the 
trills with which he tried to illustrate the de- 
lights of being " rocked in a rose while the 
nightingale sings/' his eyes grew heavy, his 
voice indistinct, the words were jumbled to- 
gether, his head sank on the sofa pillow, he 
closed his eyelids, and dropped off fast 
asleep ! . . . . 

Lucy and her mother looked at each other 
in silent dismay, tinged, on Lucy's side, with 
intense disgust, as with his mouth, his huge 
mouth, wide open, and his long tusk-like teeth 
projecting from that dark cavern, he snored 

Lucy went to the window ; it was getting 
late and dark. Her mother joined her there. 

" I wish," said Lucy, " we could leave him 
asleep on the sofa, and get to town without 
him, mamma." 

"Oh!" said Mrs. Blair, "that would be 
very ungrateful and unkind, my love. He 
has done everything in his power to amuse us, 


and if he is tired, it is only with his astound- 
ing exertions to please us." 

" How monstrous he looks !" said Lucy. 

" I never see anything disagreeable in the 
face of a true friend, my Lucy," said Mrs. 
Blair. " I remember when I was a little child, 
and read ' Beauty and the Beast,' I always 
thought, in Beauty's place, I should have been 
in love with the dear, kind, devoted Beast, 
long before he turned into the beautiful 
young Prince — and even the Beast in the 
fairy tale could not have been half as truly 
kind, nor half " 

" Nor half as disgusting 1" said Lucy with 
a shudder. 

At this moment Grinlay Snarl awoke. 

*' What are you two plotting there ?" he 
cried. " Come, give me some tea, and then 
we must order the carriage, and get back to 
town. Lucy, come and sit down by me; 
perhaps mamma will pour me out a cup of 
tea ! 


" Oh, no," said Lucy, laughingly, but 
(|uite resolved. " I never resign my office 
of tea -maker, and never Avill !" and she took 
her seat opposite to him, with the large round 
loo table between them. 

Lucy Avas looking most provokingly de- 
mure and exquisitely pretty, and Grinlay 
Snarl was all anxiety to propose, but Lucy 
gave him no opportunity; and though he 
had fully intended to return to town an en- 
gaged man, and had repeatedly said to him- 
self, " Eaint heart never won fair lady," yet 
he had not been able to break through the 
" sweet briery fence " with which Lucy con- 
trived to surround herself, when the carriage 
was announced. Nor was the journey more pro- 
pitious; he arrived at Mrs. Blair's lodgings, 
and followed Lucy into the sitting-room with 
the fatal words yet unspoken. But while 
Mrs. Blair went into her room to take off her 
bonnet, and just as Lucy, dreading a mo- 
ment's teic-ci'tcte, was about to follow her, he 


suddenly caught her by the arm, closed the 
bed-room door, set his huge, long, broad 
back against it, and said, still holding her 
fast — 

" Lucy, have done with this coquetry ! 
Name the day, and make us both happy." 

" Name what day ?" faltered Lucy. 

" What day ! — Why, the day we've both 
been looking forward to for months, Lucy ! 
The day tliat's to make me the happiest of 
men, and you the most blest of women — 
our wedding-day, Lucy. Dp you think I've 
made this such a holiday merely because on 
this day I was born into a world in which I 
never knew a moment of true joy till I knew 
you, Lucy ? No, my lovely — my beloved — 
my loving one — on this day I received from 
two offices in which I have long been assured, 
bonuses that enable me to furnish a house 
and make it a fit casket for the gem of the 
world, and to incur the expenses of our wed- 
ding without imprudence. Lucy, thougli I 

VOL. 111. s 


am no boy, this is the first love of a heart 
whose stores of passionate tenderness were un- 
suspected even by their owner, until by the 
light of your dear eyes I saw what was within 
xne. From the first moment when your en- 
chanting beauty met my eye, and your angel 
voice stole through my ear into my heart, I 
have lived, toiled, hoped for you alone ! 
Come, thou angel of this dark and troublous 
world, come to my bosom ; let md" hear you 
say, ' Grinlay, I do love you ! I will be 
yours ! 

As he spoke, he sank on his knees, and 
seizing Lucy's hands forced her into a seat, 
when, covering his face with his hands, he 
burst into a passion of tears. 

Lucy was in a very distressing, perplexing 
situation, but she was resolved to be frank 
and firm. 

" Do compose yourself, Mr. Grinlay Snarl, 
I beg, and hear me speak," she said. 

"I am only too anxious to hear you 


speak, Lucy! — my Lucy," sobbed Grinlay 

" No, no," said Lucy, herself in tears, 
" not your Lucy ; I have a great regard 
for you, and I feel a deep gratitude for all 
you have done for my mother and me, but 
I can never love you. I can never be your 

'' Never be my wife !" cried Grinlay Snarl, 
starting on his feet, his eyes on fire, and 
rage in every feature ; " then you have de- 
ceived me, madam ! Grossly, cruelly de- 
ceived me !" 

*' No," said Lucy, *' you have deceived 

'' I tell you," he shouted in uncontrollable 
passion, "- you have deceived me — ^your mo- 
ther has deceived me ! But I won't believe 
it — I don't, I can't believe it ! You're not in 
earnest, Lucy ! Say it's a joke, a cruel joke ; 
say so, and I will bless you." 

" No," said Lucy, " it is no joke ; had I 

s 2 


been fancy free, I do not think I could have 
accepted you as a husband, and because I 
could not love you as one — ^but " 

" Oh, I understand, you're in love with 
that jackanapes young Masterman ; but I'll 
horsewhip him in the street, that I will. I 
often see him lurking about ; it's he who has 
come between me and the happiness which 
else would have been mine." 

" No, indeed," said Lucy ; " he is nothing, 
less than nothing to me." 

" Mrs. Blair !" cried poor Grinlay, knocking 
at the bed-room door, " Mrs. Blair, step here, 
if you please." In came poor Mrs. Blair, 
pale, aghast, and in tears. " Lucy, there," 
he cried, in a voice husky with emotion, 
*' Lucy says she will never be my wife ; 
that she never could have loved me, and 
that she is not fancy free ; if so, that cursed 
puppy young Masterman is my rival, and by 
heaven " 

" No ! no ! dear, kind friend," said Mrs. 


Blair, " that cannot be ; he has proposed to 
Lucy, and Lucy has refused him." 

'' Ah ! who is it, then ? I demand to 

" It matters not," said Lucy, with spirit ; 
'' in any case, I should refuse your offer." 

" And you will not name the man you 
prefer to me ?" he growled. 

" I will not." 

"Nor you, madam?" he said, turning 
fiercely on Mrs. Blair. 

" I cannot ; it is the first I ever heard of 
such a preference." 

" Nor do I believe it exists," said Grinlay ; 
" I believe it is an invention to excuse the 
most cruel, coquettish, deceptive conduct that 
ever woman practised toAvards a lover who 
idolized her. For some time past I have 
marked a great change in Miss Blair's beha- 
viour. Some paltry ambition — since I told 
her her trumpery articles had created some 
fiensation — has doubtless taken possession of 


her weak brain and cold heart. Let her 
see how she'll get on in her literary career 
without my help and guidance. Oh, how 
I regret the time, the money, the feelings 
IVe wasted on one so heartless, so cruel, 
and so false. Mrs. Blair, I acquit you; I 
believe you wished what was best for your 
daughter — a union with me; but it is all 
over now ; you will never see me more ; 
and when, after a life of degrading, la- 
bour as a daily governess, or drudgery 
scarcely less ignoble and wearying as an 
ill-paid literary hack, you find yourself. Miss 
Lucy Blair, a despised and worn-out spinster 
at best in the Home for Aged Governesses, 
remember with remorse that Grinlay Snarl, 
once madly in love with your baby face, 
offered to make you the wife of his bosom, 
the mistress of his house, the partner of 
his prosperous career, and the sharer of 
a clear income of one thousand per an- 


So saying, he caught up his glossy new hat 
and lemon-coloured kid gloves, wrung Mrs. 
Blair's hand, and with his handkerchief to his 
eyes, rushed out of the house. 




Grinlay Snarl came no more. No more 
books were sent to Lucy from his office for her 
to review. A small sum owing to her was 
enclosed by the managing clerk, and she felt 
that her occupation was gone, as far as it 
depended on her vindictive and rejected ad- 

Mrs. Blair was very unhappy at the turn 
things had taken. She missed Grinlay Snarl 
very much ; she missed his daily, hourly at- 
tentions, his evening visit, his contributions 


to the larder and the cellar ette ; she missed 
the little income he secured to Lucy by em- 
ploying her pen, his knowledge of all the news 
of the day, and the occasional game of draughts 
or backgammon he used to play with her, when 
Lucy was busy with her needle or her pen. Un- 
known to her daughter she wrote him a very 
kind note of thanks for all his attentions, and she 
entreated him to return and resume his visits 
as a friend, assuring him that if he had no 
chance of winning Lucy's heart, she was sure 
no one else was held in higher estimation, and 
that she felt certain Lucy would welcome him 
back again. 

To this letter, after the lapse of a week, 
came a reply as follows : — 

" Mt deae Madam, 

" Many thanks for the kind feelings manifested 
in your letter. I am sorry that you, whom I know- 
to be so good and true, should suffer for the fault and 
folly of another ; but after what has pa8sed,were your 
daughter to offer to receive me as her affianced lover, 
I should decline the honour. I dare say you may 


have heard me mention, a fair authoress of the name 
of Brilliante Sparkleton, a lady who, before I un- 
luckily met with Miss Blair, had been on my staff. 
She has not, perhaps, the regular beauty of feature or 
delicate bloom of Miss Lucy, but, forgive me for 
saying, she is a much finer girl, and she is all heart. 
To her I have transferred my affections and my pa- 
tronage ; judge, then, whether I am likely to wish to 
return to the scenes of such cruelty, fickleness, and 
deception. I am, 

" Dear madam, yours truly, 

" GrRiNLAT Snael." 

Mrs. Blair, after perusing this odious epistle 
through some very bitter tears, much regretted 
she had written to the inflated egotist at all, 
and after burning the letter, she dismissed the 
writer and the subject as much as possible 
from her thoughts. 

Lucy vainly tried to obtain employment on 
other papers and magazines. She had no in- 
terest, and her articles were never accepted, and 
were generally lost or mislaid. Poor girl ! she 
worked steadily on, too, at her three-volume 
novel, and at length it was completed and 


submitted to an eminent publisher, who, after 
keeping it three months, declined it, as un- 
likely to succeed, and on all hands it was 
disapproved of and rejected. Very dark and 
dreary were Lucy's prospects now ! Mrs. Blair 
was ill and fretful, and the funds were alarm- 
ingly low. Lucy had indulged in lively hopes 
of selling her three-volume novel, and to its 
completion had sacrificed for a time her pro- 
fession as a daily governess ; but now she had 
so signally failed in turning her literary ta- 
lents to account, she felt she must resume her 
teaching, to avert want and penury. Every- 
thing, just at this time, seemed to go against 
her ; she spent a few shillings (which she 
could very ill spare) in advertising, and she 
had not one answer ! She tried again and 
again, with no better luck. Although on two 
or three occasions the sight of the postman 
and of a letter directed B. L. made her heart 
stand still, it was always some advertising 
agent, male or female, enclosing his or her 


own prospectus and terms, and in the end Lucy 
paid away a sovereign in entering her name in 
the books of these people. 

Poor Mrs. Blair, her mind and body ^veak- 
ened by perpetual anxiety and disappointment, 
did nothing but directly or indirectly bewail 
the loss of Grinlay Snarl, and prophesy star- 
vation or '' the union " for herself and Lucy. 

Lucy sometimes felt very much annoyed 
and exasperated by these wailings ; but the 
sight of her mother's pale, w^an cheek, and 
hollow anxious eye, silenced the retort or 
complaint that rose to her lips. 

Often, as Lucy hurried about shabbily 
dressed, from one governess agent to another, 
she passed Mr. Grinlay Snarl, walking with two 
ladies, one of them very gaily attired, a showy, 
tall, dark person, about thirty, with marked 
features, a high colour, black eyes, and very 
juvenile, animated manners. This was Miss 
Brilliante Sparkleton ; and she formed a veiy 
great and dashing contrast in her new silks, her 


rich velvet mantle, and fashionable bonnet (fresh 
from Paris) to Lucy, in her old turned, black 
Gros de Naples, her faded blue shawl, her last 
year's hat, and double-brown gossamer veil. 

Grinlay Snarl seemed to think so; for 
though Lucy always tried to escape his no- 
tice, he would raise his hat in a defiant, 
pompous manner, and his eyes flashed trium- 
phant green rays, as he did so, with Brilliante 
on his arm. 

The season had come and gone. Town had 
been full to an overflow, and the mother and 
daughter were alone. It was empty now, and 
they were still alone. Li Romance, so lovely 
a girl as Lucy, so rich in all the best gifts of 
nature and education, could not have been 
thus overlooked in such a city as London ; 
but, in Reality, Venus herself, pale, dejected, 
and oppressed, shabbily dressed, and shrink- 
ing from observation, would be equally iso- 
lated and deserted. 

Poor Lucy was become painfully anxious 


for remunerative employment. Her mother 
was ill, and would not see a doctor on account 
of the expense it would entail. She was in 
want of delicacies to tempt her faihng appe- 
tite, and common necessaries could hardly be 
procured for her. Often at this time, Lucy, 
unknown to Mrs. Blair, ate little but dry bread 
all day, in order to be able to tempt her poor 
mother's appetite with a partridge or a 

Lucy had written to both Mrs. Frimly 
Mildmay and Sir Hamilton Treherne, offering 
her services as daily governess. 

Sir George had left town, and Mrs, Frimly 
Mildmay had not yet recalled her children 
from Southend. 

Lucy tried all she could to quiet her 
mother's fears and anxieties, even while her 
own heart was faint with dread of the want 
and penury which seemed to be closing in 
upon them like the prison walls in the " L-on 
Shroud;" but for prayer, and the faith it en- 


gendered, she must have given way to despair. 
Nothing she attempted succeeded. From 
the highest efforts of imagination to the hum- 
blest mechanical labour, she had failed in 
getting anything to do, in the way of profitable 
work, since the quarrel with Grinlay Snarl. 
She had written a play, a poem, and the 
afore-mentioned three-volume novel, and had 
perseveringly tried all the managers and all 
the publishers of eminence, but in vain. 

Her writings were declined with severe 
criticism, by some, without any comment by 
others. And, in some instances, the MSS. 
were lost, and no answer given at all. She 
had no interest, no patron, no connexion, she 
belonged to no clique; she had no money 
to place at a publisher's disposal for adver- 
tising, and, disheartened by incessant disap- 
pointment, she began to think she had no 
genius, no merit. 

In the centre of the metropolis of the 
world, Lucy was as little noticed and cared 


for as if she had been in the backwoods of 
America. The young girl, in her hurried, 
anxious wanderings in search of employ- 
ment, and shrouded in her dark cloak and 
thick veil, saw the tempting announcements of 
the triumphant and brilliant successes at the 
Opera Houses and the theatres ; she saw 
the dashing carriages full of modish belles 
and attentive beaux; she saw the grand 
shops full of costly fabrics and rich orna- 
ments ; she passed merry equestrians in happy 
parties as she traversed the parks — she, 
anxious and alone ; and sometimes a sigh 
would escape her heart, and a tear dim her 
eye, as she contrasted her fate with that of 
those favourites of fortune ; but the next mo- 
ment she was ashamed of repining, which 
her pious mind told her savoured of ingra- 
titude, and she took heart and went on her 
way content, if not rejoicing. 

Their apartments, the rent of which had 
seemed very moderate when Lucy was earn- 


ing at the rate of three guineas a- week, under 
the guidance and through the friendship of 
Grinlay Snarl, were far too expensive for them, 
now that all they had to depend upon was 
Mrs. Blair's quarterly ten pounds. 

Lucy had often read in novels of distressed 
heroines maintaining themselves and their 
families by selling their drawings, their fancy 
work, their embroidery, and even by copying 
MSS., and by plain work. 

She thought of Madeline Bray, and she 
offered, at a shop in the Strand, to paint 
screens for sale ; but there were no Cheerybk^ 
Brothers to commission a handsome young 
man to overpay her. And yet the effort was 
not quite lost, for the mistress of the shoj) — 
an amiable woman, at the head of a thriving 
business — took a fancy to the now pale, 
shadowy girl, so earnest in her efforts to get 
work of some kind, and finding, on inquiry, 
that she was a Daily Governess by profes- 
sion, she proposed to her — until something 



better should offer — to teach her little girls, 
there were four of them, for fifteen shillings a 
Aveek ; it was very, very little, but Lucy 
thought it much better than nothing. 

Mrs. Barton's shop and house were not 
two minutes' w^alk from Lucy's own abode, 
and the engagement, humble and unpromising 
as it seemed, had some advantages. Lucy 
was a lady, and Mrs. Barton, who w^as quite 
without affectation or pretension, felt that she 
A\as so, and looked up to her accordingly. 
The children, and two decent maids and a 
s]iop-boy, took their tone from the mistress ; 
and instead of being despised and slighted, 
ridiculed and snubbed, Lucy was treated with 
great deferencje, attention, and respect by 
e\ery member of Mrs. Barton's household. 
Mrs. Barton w^as a sedate and good woman, 
about five and thirty ; a capital manager 
a loving yet wise mother, a widow who 
had tenderly loved and bitterly bewailed her 
husband, but had found solace in religion, 
and in doing her duty by " his children." 


He had wished them to be well educated, 
and his wishes were her laws. She had not 
had much teaching herself, but he had been 
" a good scholar," and she wished his children 
to come up to what she knew would have been 
his standard. 

She had felt the want of education herself, 
and she thoroughly appreciated the conscien- 
tious, untiring pains Lucy took with her 

They were pretty, gentle, fair, blue-eyed, 
flaxen-haired little girls, veiy clean, neat, and 
tidy, and extremely loving and yet reverential 
to Lucy. 

Mrs. Barton insisted that it should be op- 
tional with Miss Blair to teach in the morn- 
ing or the afternoon, accordingly as Mrs. 
Blair could best spare her. If she attended 
in the morning, Mrs. Barton always sent up a 
bason of excellent soup or a cup of prime 
chocolate, or a sandwich and glass of wine, 
to the delicate girl, who, sooth to sav, was 


often faint with fasting; and if her lessons 
were given in the afternoon, Mrs. Barton 
would compel her to share the substantial 
"tea," which, in that case, became Lucy's 

Lucy was sorry to leave her mother so 
much alone, but it was better for both parties 
that it should be so. Mrs. Blair, very queru- 
lous and irritable from illness, anxiety, and 
disappointment, excited herself and tormented 
poor Lucy by perpetual regrets, misgivings, 
and lamentations, when she had Lucy to talk 
to ; but when Lucy was gone, she would settle 
to some quiet work, such as mending a glove 
or darning a stocking, and Lucy, on her re- 
turn, would find her mother comparatively 
cheerful and delighted to welcome her back. 

Lucy had not once heard from Heniy Gre- 
ville, but there was not time, as yet, for a 
reply to have arrived to her last letter, and 
all was in confusion at the house in Arundel 
Street, for Mr. Copley and his wife had been 


found guilty of poisoning poor old Mrs. 
Bragge, and had been hanged at Newgate. 

Of this dreadful result of their crime, 
Lucy had been apprised by the placards 
she observed in the streets announcing the 
contents of the newspapers ; and when, 
some days after the execution of these 
wretched criminals, Lucy went to Arundel 
Street to inquire if any letter for her had 
arrived there, the door was opened by a 
person coming out, who, on seeing her, 
thrust a letter into his pocket, but at one 
glance Lucy recognised a foreign stamp (pale 
green), and it seemed to her that the hand- 
writing was that of Henry Greville. 

The person who was in possession of the 
letter was no other than Slimy Coil, who 
would compel her to recognise him, and 
answer his numerous questions, and whom 
she had great difficulty in shaking off, which 
she only effected by entering a church where 
the divine service had just commenced, 


wtich service Lucy attended with great com- 
fort to her heart, whenever she coukl do 
so. SHmy Coil never entered a church, and 
thus she was rid of him at once. 

When Lucy returned home, she imme- 
diately asked the servant if any letter had 
come for her, and was delighted to hear that 
one awaited her up stairs. The letter Lucy 
expected, was a reply to one she had sent 
offerino; to undertake a translation from the 
German, which she had seen advertised in the 
Times, which Mrs. Barton had sent up for her 
to look at. 

The advertiser had said a competent trans- 
lator would be handsomely remunerated. 
Lucy had now no correspondents. It was 
impossible a letter to that address could come 
from Henry Greville for some time. She ran 
up stairs with the glow of success and tlie 
vivacity of renewed hope ; she caught up the 
letter. She did not know the hand, which, 
though firm, was feminine too. She eagerly 
broke the seal. 


The envelope contained only two cards, 
lovingly united by a silver cord : — 

" Mr. Grinlay Snarl. 
Mrs. Grinlay Snarl." 

And on the inside of the turn-down of the 
envelope was : — 

" Brilliante Sparkleton." 

The cards dropped from Lucy's hand, a]id 
she burst into tears. 

"Ah, my poor love," said Mrs. Blair, 
" you see now Avhat you have lost !" 

Lucy hastened to dry her eyes and to 
assure her mother that it was the loss of the 
translation, not of the husband, which she be- 

" Here is another card which you have not 

seen," said Mrs. Blair. " It was directed to 

me, and says — 

" ' Mr. and Mrs. Grinlay Snarl at home to Mrs. 
and Miss Blair on the 14th, 15th, and 16th of August. 
Eden Cottage, Regent's Park.' 

" We will call on the happy pair, my love," 


said Mrs. Blair. " Perhaps he may become 
friendly again — I have never ceased to miss 
him. How I wish — but washing is of no 

" No," laughed Lucy, " I'm thankful to say 
in this case it is not," 




It was about a month from the time of 
Lucy's receiving Mr. Grinlay Snarl's bridal 
cards, and as Mrs. Blair was still bent on 
calling on the newly-married couple on the 
day appointed — and Lucy never thwarted her 
mother when compliance was possible — both 
mother and daughter began to consider the 
important question of " nothing to wear." 
Since last they had, through the liberality of 
Mrs. Green Brown, figured in any new dresses 
or smart bonnets, fashions had come in dia- 


metrically opposite to what had then pre- 
vailed ; and Mrs. Blair could not bear the 
idea that Lucy should sit in a turned silk and 
cleaned bonnet of last year, by the side of the 
bride in all the elegance of bridal attire fresh 
from Paris, where she had spent her honey- 
moon. Lucy w^as not vain, but soon she 
shrank from such an ordeal, and earnestly 
wished her mother w^ould give up the visit. 
This Mrs. Blair, w^ho hoped all might be 
m^de up if they called, and Lucy again em- 
ployed as a writer, would not consent to do. 

It wanted about two days of the time ap- 
pointed for the " At Home," and Mrs. Blair 
comforted herself with that hope, so potent 
and so deceptive with the sanguine poor, that 
" something would turn up" in the meantime. 
Lucy had no such hope ; nothing but disap- 
pointment had been her portion on all sides 
— when, one morning, on entering the sitting- 
room, she saw two letters on the breakfast- 
table ; one was from Mrs. Frimly ]\Iildmay, 


announcing the return of her children from 
Southend, and begging Lucy at once to com- 
mence her daily visits at the Blissful Retreat ; 
the other was from Sir George Hamilton Tre- 
heme, announcing that his daughter Augusta 
and himself were in town for some months, 
and that both were delighted to avail them- 
selves of Miss Blair's kind proposal to resume 
her attendance. 

Mrs. Blair, while rejoicing over the pecu- 
niary advantages to be derived from these 
engagements, could not help bewailing the 
days when, through Grinlay Snarl, Lucy 
could earn, without leaving the house, more 
.than she would do by all this teaching, and 
trudging about in all weathers. 

Lucy's feelings were of a mixed nature, 
but gratitude and satisfaction predominated. 
Her first visit was to Sir George Hamilton 

None of the old servants were there. A 
very respectful butler answered hsr timid 


knock directly. She came by appointment, 
and was punctual to a moment. She was 
scarcely inside the entrance hall, when Sir 
George opened the door of his study, and 
perceiving her, came cordially forward with 
an extended hand and welcomed her in the 
most flattering manner, leading her to the 
library, where Augusta, very much grown 
and improved, was awaiting her. 

Augusta, always an impulsive, affectionate 
girl, rushed into Lucy Blair's arms, and 
bursting into tears, said — 

" Oh, my dear, darling Miss Blaii' ! I am 
so glad to see you again ! I have so often 
repented of all the trouble I gave you, and 
all I made you suffer. Will you forgive me ?" 
she added, kissing Lucy's pale cheek. " How 
altered, thin, and pale you are, dear, Miss 
Blair !" 

Lucy kissed her affectionately, and inquired 
after Lady Hamilton Treheme, and her sisters. 
From Augusta's replies, Lucy concluded that 


an amicable settlement by mutual consent had 
taken place between Sir George and his lady. 
The latter was living in Paris, and was very 
intimate with another wonderfully clever Pole, 
a Count, Avho could speak all languages and 
play upon all instruments. 

" He wanted to pay his addresses to me," 
said Augusta ; " I met him at a ball, and I 
hated him, and so he offered me his friend- 
ship, when I rejected his love ; and I handed 
him over to mamma, who, now Sir Jasper is 
such a poor imbecile cripple, wants somebody, 
when papa is away, to escort her about. 
Annette is with mamma ; and Hannah, who 
went over with us, married a French waiter, 
who ill-uses her dreadfully." 

Augusta would have rattled on the whole 
time of Lucy's stay had the latter not insisted 
on her giving up her attention to her studies. 
And as one o'clock struck, Sir George en- 
tered, and giving Lucy his arm, led her to 
tlic dining-room, where luncheon was ready 
on the table. 


Poor Lucy, who had taken nothing that 
day but a cup of tea and a crust of bread, 
and who had to go to Bayswater, was Yery 
glad of this timely refreshment ; and nothing 
could exceed the delicate kindness and almost 
paternal affection of Sir George's manner to 
her when he noticed the extreme delicacy of 
her appearance, doubly remarkable by the 
contrast with Augusta's rosy cheeks and 
I'ound plump figure. 

Lucy saw with sorrow that Sir George 
himself looked ill and anxious ; and she re- 
marked when, on leaving, he took her kindly 
by the hand, that his was hot and feverish. 
Augusta, when Lucy took her leave, put into 
her hand a little sachet she had herself em- 
broidered, and telling her there was a note 
inside which Lucy was not to read till she 
was alone, she kissed her young governess, 
and bade her adieu. 

When Lucy was out of sight of Sir George's 
mansion, she felt some curiosity about the 


contents of the envelope. She opened it, and 
perceived a note (a ten-pound note), with the 
following lines from Augusta — 

"Mt deae Miss Blair, 
" Papa begs you will allow him to pay you the en- 
closed trifle in advance, as he thinks the expenses 
attendant on your own illness and Mrs. Blair's may 
make such an arrangement agreeable to you, and it is 
perfectly convenient to him. Papa is as much grieved 
as I am to see you looking so very delicate ; and I 
hope, if we go for a few weeks to Brighton or into 
the country, you will accompany us. 
" I am, dear Miss Blair, 

" Tour attached and grateful pupil, 
** Augusta Leonora Hamilton Teeherne." 

Lucy's eyes filled with tears at the evidence 
of a consideration and kindness so touching 
in a man generally supposed to be worldly, 
case-hardened, and thoroughly selfish. 

This advance was, indeed, most propitious, 
most providential. Lucy and her mother 
were at their last pecuniary gasp, and a 
month's rent was due. Again, if they were 
to call on Mr. Grinlav Snarl and his bride. 


they could now procure a few things essential 
to a tolerable appearance. It was a blessing, 
a godsend; and Lucy, who had always felt 
an unaccountable interest in, and regard for, 
Sir George, now found something very like 
gratitude and affection glow in her bosom as 
she placed the ten-pound note and Augusta's 
letter there. 

" The heart will leap kindly back to kind- 
ness," and Lucy's was no exception to this 

With a light heart and a light foot she 
hurried along to " The BKssful Retreat." 
Mrs. Frimly Mildmay, the egotistical boaster 
with " the Hyde Park connexion," ,had only 
time to instal her in the school-room and to 
introduce her children. Luckily, at least for 
Lucy, she had to walk through the rooms and 
see to the administering of punishment to some 
of the refractory patients, so Lucy was spared 
the infliction of her wearisome talk. The 
children, four girls and two boys, were very 


Ugly, dark, harsh-featured, mulatto-like little 
people, very ignorant, ill-bred, quarrelsome, 
and conceited, and great chatterboxes. Prom 
them, had Lucy been so disposed, she might 
have heard the history of every patient, and 
all the secrets of the prison-house. But Lucy 
insisted on silence, and by her gentle firm- 
ness obtained complete control over children 
whom all other governesses had pronounced 

Lucy's time was now fully occupied ; fi'om 
ten to one she attended Georgina; from 
two to four she was at the Blissful Retreat ; 
and from four to seven she was at Mrs. 

Lucy would not give up the children of 
that humble friend in need, although the 
fatigue of so many hours of so wearying and 
exhausting an occupation as teaching was 
beginning to affect her health. She mack; 
her luncheon at Sir George's serve as dinner, 
and did not go home until her tcacliing was 

VOL. HI. u 


over for the day, when her mother had tea 
ready for her. One day, while Lucy was at 
the Bhssful Retreat, giving lessons as usual, 
tlie children all took it into their heads to 
niu out after a pet squirrel of their own, 
which had escaped from his cage. Lucy was 
darting out after them, when she heard from 
an upper window a voice exclaim, " Lucy 
Blair ! lAicy Blair ! I am a prisoner here ! 
wait a few minutes, you shall know all !" 
Lucy looked up, she could see nothing but 
a closely-barred window. But the voice, 
though altered, had tones which she recog- 
nised. The children were fully occupied in 
trying to recapture their squirrel, and Lucy 
waited until a note droppod at her feet. She 
j)icked it up and read — 

" Deaeest Lucy, 
" I have been here since a few da3's after I was torn 
from you in that storm at the Lover's seat, Hastings. 
My tyrent got three doctors (creatures of his own) to 
sign a certificate that I was insain. He is gone to 
xhti Brazils. I have been crueilv ill-treated, but am 


supposed to be recovering. By great gentleness and 
docelity I liope to regain some degree of freedom, and 
then I shall depend on your help for escape. I am 
allowed pens, ink, and paper, and am busy witb my 
poem. I will contrive to drop you another note in a 
day or two. 

" Your devoted 

" Geoegina Green Beown." 

It was a great comfort to Lucy to have as- 
certained at last where this kind friend and 
amiable though eccentric woman was con- 

Anxiety about her poor friend's fate often 
added its poison to Lucy's cup of bitters. She 
was delighted at the idea of being able to re- 
])ay the countless kindnesses of Mrs. Green 
Brown, by helping her to escape from a restraint 
so unjustifiable — and the Erimly IMildmays be- 
came odious and contemptible in Lucy's 
opinion for having lent themselves to a plot 
for confining in their lunatic asylum a person 
of such very sound mind as Mrs. Green Brown 
certainly was. 

It was some days, however, before 'Lucy 


heard any more of the poor prisoner. In the 
meantime all had been progressing favourably 
at the Hamilton Trehernes, and a very beau- 
tiful piece of rich silk and a very tasteful 
shawl, which Sir George presented to Lucy 
through his daughter Augusta, enabled her to 
array herself in a style of first-rate elegance to 
call on Mr. and Mrs. Grinlay Snarl. 

Mrs. Blair insisted on Lucy's having a new 
hat for this important visit, and she herself, by 
retrimming and refreshing her bonnet and her 
dress and mantle, looked, with the aid of a pair 
of new gloves, very nice and presentable. 

The day of the bridal " At Home " arrived 
without Lucy's having heard any more of Mrs. 
Green Brown. And Lucy having mentioned 
at luncheon before Sir George that she and 
her mother had to pay this visit, and having 
delighted Augusta and her father with a play- 
ful description of Mr. Grinlay Snarl, Sir George 
insisted that she should pay this visit in his 
new 'brougham ; and in consequence of his 


resolving that so it should be, Lucy arrived at 
home in one of the neatest, most elegant turn- 
outs ever seen, and with a coachman, footman, 
and glossy pair of vmrivalled chestnut tits. 

Mrs. Blair, who was just lamenting over the 
necessity of going part of the way in an om- 
nibus, and part on foot, was much delighted 
at this piece of good fortune. Mr. and Mrs. 
Grinlay Snarl were looking from their drawing- 
room window when the elegant equipage con- 
taining Mrs. and Miss Blair stopped at their 
garden gate. 

'' Who can it be, Grinny, dear?" said the 
playful bride. " I sent cards to Lord Madri- 
gal and to Sir Plagiar Fribble, but I had 
scarcely a hope they w^ould call. Yet none of 
our own acquaintance, except his lordship or 
that rich Sir Plagiar, can have such a turn-out." 

'' I sent the last Monday Review, with my 
article on the ' Orators of the Age,' to all those 
t have mentioned, so it may be one of the 
great guns of either house," said Grinlay. 


" It seems to me to be two ladies," said 
Mrs. Grinlay Snarl, hastening to her chair of 
state after she had glanced in the pier-glasses, 
and shaken out her crinoline. 

'' Farturiunt monies! nascitur ridiculm 
mus^' muttered Grinlay, as the page, radiant 
in many rows of plated buttons, announced 
Mrs. and Miss Blaii\ 

The meeting was a very awkward one. 
They had been invited merely to gratify Grm- 
lay's wish to mortify Lucy by compelling her 
to contrast her mean attire and dejected, forlorn 
state Avith the bridal elegance and high spirits 
of the newly-married BrilHante. But Lucy's 
elegant toilette and singular beauty of form and 
face made the bride look, even in her Grinlay 's 
eyes, harsh, old, and vulgar. 

Brilliant e, who could not but perceive the 
involuntary admiration of her Grinlay's glances, 
became excited, flippant, and almost rude, 
and when, as the rooms filled with brothers 
and sisters of the pen, all more or less wor- 


shippers of "the beautiful," and Lucy became 
the object of that homage and attention whicli 
the bride had expected to monopohze, botli 
Mr. and Mrs. Grinlay Snarl looked any thin j^- 
but the happy pair they wished to be thought ; 
but, to crown all, Lord Madrigal and Sir Pla- 
giar, with several of the " Orators of the Age" 
whom Grinlay had eulogised in his article, 
dropped in, and not caring one pin for pleasing 
anything but themselves, took little notice of 
anything but Lucy — to whom opera boxes and 
admissions to the upper and lower house, and 
compliments of all kinds, were offered. The 
bride's cheeks grew of a deeper and a deeper 
red the while, and Grinlay Snarl's eyes flashed 
green fire as he glanced at the unconscious 
Lucy, when all at once Lord Madrigal, pro- 
ducing a beautifully bound volume of liis 
"Fugitive Follies " (which he had intended 
for the bride), begged Lucy's acceptance of it. 
This was the overflowing drop of the bride's 
cup of despair. A succession of wild screams. 


laughs, sobs, from Mrs. Grinlay Snarl, electri- 
fied the guests. Brilliante was subject to 
hysterics, and Grinlay, lifting his bride in his 
arms, carried her, shrieking and laughing, 
into the adjoining bed-chamber. This catas- 
trophe broke up the meeting. 

Grinlay Snarl came out to apologize for his 
bride's sudden indisposition. Lord Madrigal 
handed Lucy to Sir George's carriage, while 
Sir Plagiar oifered his services to Mrs. Blair. 

And Lucy drove away, having made a dozen 
useless conquests, and a bitter enemy of Mrs. 
Grinlay Snarl. So ended the " At Home " 
and Mrs. Blair's hopes of a reconciliation. 




The next day Lucy Blair, on leaving Sir 
George's house, suddenly met with Cecil Syd- 
ney at the corner of Belgrave Square. As it 
struck her that his help might be of great 
value to her in effecting Mrs. Green Brown's 
escape, Lucy, while he walked by her side 
towards Bayswater, told him, as briefly as she 
could, all that had befallen her poor friend 
since he had seen her last ; and Cecil Sydney, 
who had never forgotten Mrs. Green Brown's 
kindness to himself, and who was now com- 


pletely " white -washed " and free, was de- 
lighted at the idea of assisting the poor pri- 
soner to escape. 

He wrote a few lines with a pencil on his 
card, and begged Lucy, if possible, to convey 
them to Mrs. Green Brown. He then pro- 
posed to accompany Lucy to Bayswater, that 
he might have an opportunity of reconnoitring 
the Blissful Retreat, and determining his plan 
of attack. 

He told Lucy where to address him, in case 
of his services being suddenly required, and 
assured her he would rather carry off that 
good-natured, kind-souled Green Brown from 
the Blissful Retreat, than any heiress he knew 
of from her father's halls. 

Some days passed before Lucy had an op- 
portunity of giving Mrs. Green Brown Cecil 
Sydney's card. But at length she was en- 
abled to do so. Mrs. Green Brown, who, 
always perfectly sane, had been extremely 
violent w^hen first she found herself within 


the walls of a lunatic asylum, had run no 
small risk of becoming really demented from 
excitement, despair, the companionship of lu- 
natics and keepers, and the exasperating, 
maddening punishment which Mrs. Frimly 
Mildmay ordered and superintended. One 
of the commonest results of incarcerating the 
sane with the insane, is the gradual mental 
and moral deterioration that ensues, ending 
almost always in the worst kind of mania. 

Mrs. Green Brown was in a fair way to 
become a lunatic, when the sight of Lucy 
Blair, on the day of her first visit to the 
Blissful Retreat, shed a ray of hope over the 
growing darkness of her soul. 

Being naturally a woman of strong will 
and iron constitution, she decided at once on 
her plan of conduct. 

From her keeper, who was talkative and 
rather good-natured, Mrs. Green Brown learnt 
that the young lady, whose dress she had 
clutched, had come to the Blissful Retreat 


to offer herself as a daily governess, and that 
on the return of the children from Southend, 
she was to attend them in that capacity. 

Here then was something to hope for, to 
Avatch for, to look forward to. Mrs. Green 
Brown kept her own counsel ; she gave up all 
evidence of violent passion, became appa- 
rently reconciled to the Blissful Retreat, grew 
docile, obedient, conformable. She asked for 
l)ooks, w^ork, pens, ink and paper, and be- 
haved so quietly and discreetly, that all re- 
straint was removed, and she was allowed to 
roam about the grounds, and cultivate a few 
flowers, just under the school-room window. 
Of this Lucy was soon aware, and, as the 
school-room was on the ground-floor, Lucy, 
by placing a book on the sill of the open 
window, to which her pupils' backs were 
turned, was able to convey and receive letters 
from Mrs. Green Brown. 

She had conveyed to her Cecil Sydney's 
card, and had received in return a request 


that on the next day he would be with a calj 
at the corner of the wall of the Blissful Re- 
treat. She added that she had formed a plan 
which she would not communicate to Lucy, 
as she thought it best both should be, and 
appear to be, in entire ignorance of Mrs. 
Green Brown's escape, and the way in which 
it had been effected. 

Mrs. Green Brown by this time was con- 
sidered so well, and so perfectly harmless, 
that she was allowed to go about the house 
and grounds scarcely noticed or watched ; and 
but for the very high pay the Frimly Mild- 
mays received for her from her husband's 
solicitor, she would have been dismissed as 
cured. Lucy had some glimpses of her 
former friend, and was touched to see that 
the once obese Mrs. Green Brown was now a 
thin, pale, sharp-featured woman, even moic^ 
slender and shadowy than herself. 

Lucy, one afternoon that the children had 
])een unusually dull and troublesome, had re- 


mained a little later than usual, to enforce the 
learning of a particular lesson. 

She had just sent one of her little pupils, 
as usual, into the cloak-room for her large 
mantle, her brown hat and double gossamer 
veil, when Mrs. Frimly Mildmay came in, 
and seeing Lucy hearing her little boy his 
Latin verb, for the last time before giving him 
his marks, she turned pale, for she was very 
superstitious, and said : — 

" Good heavens, Miss Blair ! how is it you 
are here still ? I saw you, myself, from the 
shower-bath-room window, go out at the great 
gate, twenty minutes ago. I was superin- 
tending the giving a shower-bath to Lady 
Dureale, who has been very obstreperous all 
day, and fearing her screams might be heard, 
I myself closed the window just as you went 
out at the gate !" 

" I assure you, I have not left this room," 
said Lucy, " and the children can tell you the 


" But I saw you in your large brown cloak, 
your flap hat, and double brown gossamer 
veil, Miss Blair ! I could not see your face, 
no one can through that veil, but I could 
swear to your dress and person ; if not you, 
it must have been your fetch !" 

At this moment, little Miriam came in to 
say that Lucy's hat and cloak were nowhere 
to be found. 

The truth darted at once across Lucy's 
mind, but she took care, of course, to keep 
her suspicions to herself. 

After a long and vain search, Mrs. Frimly 
Mildmay offered Lucy the use of an old 
])onnet and shawl ; and just as she was taking 
her departure, a female keeper came and 
whispered Mrs. Frimly Mildmay that, al- 
though the bell for the patients' tea had been 
rung at the usual hour, Mrs. Blackadder 
Crawly (our Mrs. Green Brown) had not 
appeared, and, in fact, could nowhere be 
found ! 


Lucy did not appear to hear or to heed 
what was said ; and Mrs. Erimly Mildmay, 
though she grew very pale and trembled vio- 
lently, made a sign to the keeper not to 
betray before Miss Blair a fact so injurious to 
a lunatic asylum as the escape of a patient. 
Eut she too saw clearly how it was — the 
lady had watched her opportunity, and made 
her escape in the hat, double veil, and dark 
cloak of the daily governess, exactly at the 
hour she usually left the Blissful Retreat ; 
and when the gate was opened for her, as a 
matter of course, Lucy's delight at the bril- 
liant success of this clever and spirited ma- 
noeuvre was so great, that she was glad 
when she was outside the walls, fearing lest 
her joy should be legible in her face. 

She took a Hansom cab to arrive at home 
as quickly as possible ; and when she rushed 
into the sitting-room, she found Mrs. Green 
Brown, Cecil Sydney, and her mother await- 
ing her. Poor Mrs. Green Brown rushed into 


Lucy's arms, and burst into tears ; nor was 
she able, for some time, not, indeed, till she had 
taken a cup of tea, and reposed by the fire on 
the sofa, to explain that, having passed safely 
out of the great iron gates as the daily go- 
verness, she had been so fortunate as to see 
Cecil sitting in a cab at the corner ; and 
though he did not at first in the least recog- 
nise her, she soon made herself known to him, 
and he gladly offered his services to convey 
her to Mrs. Blair's abode. 

Till a late hour, Lucy, her mother, and 
Cecil Sydney sat round the fire listening to 
Mrs. Green Brown's history of all her suffer- 
ings. She was indignant beyond measure at 
the impudent and daring imposition, nay, 
robbery, of Lady O'Blarney ; but she feared to 
expose and punish her, and did not even dare to 
send for Mincing and claim her property, lest 
Mr. Crawley Blackadder, her cruel, remorseless 
lord and master, sliould become aware of her 
escape, and discover h(^r retreat. 

VOL. in. X 


Mr. Crawley Blackadder had been obliged 
to return to the Brazils, owing to some im- 
portant mercantile speculations in which his 
partner had engaged. And Mrs. Green 
Brown was glad for the present to avail her- 
self of Mrs. Blair's offer of lying perdue in 
her lodgings till she could communicate with 
her agent, and decide on some plan of life. 
* * * * 

Lucy went as usual the next day from the 
Hamilton Trehernes to the Blissful Retreat. 
She took care, of course, not to re-appear in 
the hat and cloak in which Mrs. Green Brown 
had escaped. 

Nothing was said to her by Mrs. Frimly 
Mildmay about the missing patient ; but she 
perceived two men, who looked very like de- 
tectives, coming out of the doctor's study, 
and one of her little pupils told her that she 
knew a great secret, which she wasn't to say 
anything about, but that they had all agreed 
to tell Miss Blair the whole storv if she'd 


promise not to mention it, and would give 
them half a holiday to find out what the 
police were doing. 

Lucy forbade one word on the subject, and, 
much disappointed, they sullenly went on 
with their studies. When Lucy went to give 
her usual lessons at Mrs. Barton's, she found 
that a Mr. Hinks, Mrs. Barton's brother, who 
had opened a large library and stationer's 
shop at Bath, as he was a widower, had 
proposed to her to enter into partnership with 
him, and to keep house for him there ; and as 
they were to remove at once, Lucy's services 
were no longer required. Mrs. Barton said, 
very prettily — 

" I know. Miss Blair, it was out of kind- 
ness you continued to attend my children, 
when your time was so fully occupied, and that 
my departure will be a relief to you , and \ 
have ventured, as a little keepsake, to put by a 
Shakespeare, a Milton, and a Cowper, riclily 

X 2 


bound, for you, with an assortment of my 
best stationery." 

She then paid Lucy the trifle due to her, 
and they parted with feehngs of mutual 




Lucy did all in her power to make Mrs. 
Green Brown comfortable, and this was not 
very difficult, so overjoyed was the poor crea- 
ture to have outwitted Mrs. Frimly Mildmay, 
to have recovered her freedom, and to Hiid 
herself once more with her darling Lucy. 

Lucy had now a new source of annoyance 
in the constant intrusion of Slimy Coil, both 
into the study where she was teaching Augusta, 
and the dining-room where she took lunclicon 
with them. There was now no mistaking his 


object ; he was resolved she should under- 
stand that he loved her, and meant to propose 
to her ; and she disliked him so much, that 
his presence made her attendance very irksome 
to her. She was meditating making a com- 
plaint to Sir George, when several events 
occurred in quick succession, as they gene- 
rally do, Avhich rendered such a step unne- 

Mrs. Green Brown had, luckily for her, an 
agent devoted to her interests, who let her 
have a little of the money which had accu- 
mulated during her confinement, although 
she did not dare sign a cheque or appear at 
the office, and it was not impossible he might 
get into trouble for paying money to an 
alleged lunatic just escaped from a mad-house. 
Through him she was enabled to fit herself 
up again with a splendid golden wig and a 
costly wardrobe ; but the only eyes on which 
she ventured to shine were those of Lucy, her 
mother, and Cecil Sydney, to whom she had 


confided her history, and who, though disap- 
pointed in his hopes of a rich wife, was very 
kind and attentive to her as a friend. 

Gladly would Mrs. Green Brown have en- 
deavoured to induce her agent to advance 
money enough to enable Lucy to dispense 
Avith her daily reading, but Lucy would not 
hear of idleness and dependence w^hile she 
was strong and able to work. 

She continued her daily visits to Belgrave 
Square and the Blissful Retreat, until one 
day Augusta announced that her mamma w^as 
grown tired of life abroad, and that she had 
written to say she should shortly arrive in 
town, to prepare for the London season, and 
for the introduction of her daughters. 

Lucy said nothing at the time, but she felt 
that to attend at a house where Lady Hamil- 
ton Treherne was mistress was quite impos- 
sible, and she was resolved to write a note to 
Augusta, and resign her office. 




Lucy Blair did her best to fit Augusta 
Hamilton Treherne tt) shine in those circles 
which she was herself much more calculated 
to adorn. 

But of mere beauty Augusta had no in- 
considerable share. Still, beauty alone will 
never constitute any woman a reigning belle. 
Grace, wit, charm, as it is called, go further 
with moderate beauty than the perfection of 
feature, form, and colouring, without those 
far more captivating attributes. 


And from constant association with Lucy 
Blair, Augusta had acquired something of her 
easy, sprightly manner, winning grace, gentle 
dignity, her arch simplicity, and piquant 

Lucy had not of late seen much of Sir 
Hamilton Treherne. He had been a great 
deal abroad, and it was reported had lost very 
large sums. 

When she did see him, Lucy, who always 
felt an indescribable interest in his fate, per- 
ceived with sorrow that his cheek was pale 
and hollow, and that 

"O'er his clear broad brow were wrought 
The intersected lines of thought, 
Scars of the lacerated mind 
Which the soul's war hath left behind." 

He had not had the slightest comfort abroad 
in the society of Lady Hamilton Treherne, 
who, for the sake of appearances, had urged 
him to visit her. Slic would lavish help, 
time, pity, sympathy on Thaddeus Humbug- 


anowski ; but she had not a word, a tear, a 
moment for her husband's sorrows ! 

About this time the member for B , 

Lord K — — , was called, by the death of his 
father, to the Upper House. Sir George 
Hamilton Treherne returned suddenly from 
Hamburg, had long, frequent, and earnest 
consultations with Slimy Coil and other law- 
yers, Avas nominated, and returned for B . 

Lucy was glad of any accession of dignity 
or importance to one in whom she took a 
lively interest; but she did not know how 
important it was to him to be a member of 
Parliament, until one day she heard Downy, 
the new butler (Mr. Malmsey had left his 
situation), say to a new giant, " Well, that's 
the wisest thing Sir George has done this 
long time ; he's safe from arrest, anyhow !" 

" Arrest !" drawled Townly, " what, has Sir 
George been fast ? " 

" So fast that he's outrun the constable 
these ten years ; and now, come what Avill, he 
can't be nabbed." 


'' Then I shan't let my wages get in arrears," 
said Townly. 

" No, rd advise you not ; for take my 
word for it, there'll be a smash one of these 

" Well, Malmsey made it answer," rejoined 
Townly. " He feathered his nest, Downy. 
He's started that first-rate family hotel in 
Brook Street ; all out of savings here. And 
an unkawmon pretty gal he've married, too," 
added Townly. " No one knows the pints of 
a fine woman better than your humble ser- 
vant ; and I saw him go to church : such a 
gay wedding. It was done very 'ansome, I 
must say ; I had a good squint at her, for she 
was married in a wail, like any lady in the 

" In a wail? — Malmsey's bride in a wail ?" 

" Yes, it was his wish, which I don't blame 
him wishing her to look hke a lady, as he can 
keep her like one." 

" And you count her handsome, Townly ?" 


" Despert 'ansome ! I tell you the wail 
was only stuck on at the back of her 'ead. I 
could see her hair as black and glossy as jet 
or satin, set off by the orange flowers ; and 
such blue eyes, and rosy cheeks, and red lips ; 
and then for crinoline, nothink ever come 
anigh her, or ever could, for her hoops. 
What a power of flounced white silk !" 

" Who was she, Townly ?" 

" Ah, that I can't tell you ; but nothmk — I 
believe — a parvemie, nothink more. I read 
the mnrriage in the papers, and so I know 
her name was Botherem. It said, 'Peter 
Malmsey, Esq., to Elizabeth, daughter of 
Joseph Botherem, Esq. Fine squires, truly !" 

" Well, Malmsey didn't take up with her, 
Avhatever she is, till he'd got his go-by from 
our governess, Miss Blair. By-the-by, I hear 
she've given warning ! Ah ! that's because 
my Lady's coming back, and she and Blair 
don't pull together at all. I heard Blair's 
going to be married. ' 


" Did Malmsey fancy Blair ? Well, she's 
a neat little think. I shouldn't object to her 
myself ; but the girl he's married is a much 
finer woman ; besides, I never could fancy a 
governess ; they're such half-and-half sort of 
people. They ain't ladies, and they ain't 
servants ; then what are they ?" 

" I don't say this new butler will make 
what Malmsey done h-out of the H. T.'s," said 
Downy ; " however, I'll take care they don't 
get too deep in my books, and I advise you 
to do the same." 

" Thank ye ; I'll look out," said Townly. 




Slimy Coil, Esq., attorney-at-law, had be- 
come of singular sendee in getting Six* George 

Hamilton Treherne returned for B , and 

now he required some service at the hand of 
his client. 

Slimy Coil had set his heart on two things — 
on being knighted, and on marrying Lucy 
Blair. He had a notion that few women 
were indifferent to title and precedence. 

He wished to be Sir Slimy Coil, and then 


he thought Lucy would not find it in her 
heart to refuse him. 

Sir George Hamilton Treherne was one of 
those men who, having used another as a 
stepping-stone to any object, was very likely 
to kick that stone away. Slimy Coil had 
served his turn, but he was not at all in- 
clined to serve Slimy Coil. Nay, when first 
Slimy unfolded his wishes and his schemes. 
Sir George Hamilton Treherne burst into a 
loud, irrepressible, but most aggravating fit of 

'' What !" he said, " Slimy, at your age, 
and with your hop-o'-my-thumb of a person 
marry that pretty Lucy Blair, or rather oflPer 
to her, for I'm certain the girl would laugh 
you to scorn. I know she has a perfect hor- 
ror of you. And, indeed. Slimy, I don't 
think, if you look in the glass, you can 
wonder that your little marmoset face and 
form should appear very ridiculous to such a 
lovely girl as that. She's a sweet-tempered 


girl, and she never says an ill-natured thing ; 
but I really did hear her one day say, ' I wish 
I could prevent that grinning marmoset, Mr. 
Slimy Coil, from coming into the school- 

" You did. Sir George ?" 

" I did, indeed, Slimy ; and I assure you I 
think that the title you so covet, would make 
you a thousand times more ridiculous in her 
eyes, and in those of all the world." 

" That is your opinion, Sir George," said 
Slimy, growing ghastly pale, and in a hideous 
grin revealing those large bluish porcelain 
teeth, the misfit adapted to his monkey jaw 
by, and cheapened from, a Jew dentist. 

" It must be the opinion of every one, 

" And you positively refuse to help me to 
obtain the object of my ambition and my 

"I swear to you, Shmy, by all I hold 
sacred, that I will make no effort to get you 


laughed at as a knight, or rejected by Miss 

" And I swear, in return. Sir George, that 
your black and heartless conduct shall meet 
with a signal punishment. You shall curse 
yourself, and your base ingratitude to one 
who has been to you a friend and benefactor ; 
and when public disgrace and exposure are 
your portion, — when the law lays its iron 
gripe on your shoulder, and every tongue 
cries shame on you, — remember you owe 
your downfall to a hop-o'-my-thumb ; a mar- 
moset ! id est, to Slimy Coil." 





It was about half-past eight in the evening, 
when Lucy, sitting down to write a note, 
her eye fell on the Times just arrived, and an 
advertisement, the first in the paper, caught 
her view ; it was headed Lucy Blair. 

Lucy seized the paper, while all the blood 
in her body seemed to rush to her head and 
face, and panting, read : 

" Lucy Blaib. — Should tJiis advertisement 
meet the eye of Mrs. or Miss Blair ^ who in Au- 
(just, 185 — , ivere residing at Bonvivant House, 


Hastings, they are requested at once to com- 
municate with Messrs. Flint and Steel, Lin- 
colns-lnn-Fields, Solicitors to the late Samuel 
Stockton, Esq., from whom Miss Blair loill hear 
something to her advantage.'' 

Mrs. Blair, coming in at this moment, found 
Lucy with distended eyes still gazing at the 

Lucy pointed to the advertisement. Her 
mother read it with a succession of cries of 
mingled pity and delight ! " Late ! Ah, then 
he's dead ! poor dear ! I'm so sorry ! of 
course he's left you something very hand- 
some ! kind old fellow, I'm so glad ! and 
now I think of it, Lucy, I have no doubt 
the dear old man has left you the greatest 
])art of his fortune. Lucy," said the san- 
guine Mrs. Blair, " send an excuse to Bel- 
grave Square, and to the Blissful Retreat, and 
come with me to Lincoln's- Inn-Fields at 
once ; but first let us go and tell dear Mrs. 
Green Brown of this stroke of good fortune !" 


Mrs. Green Brown was overjoyed at the 
new hopes of her friends, and it was agreed 
that after breakfast they should all set out 
together for Lincoln's-Inn-Fields. 

The result was w^hat Mrs. Blair had pro- 
phesied; for, after much circumlocution and 
many precautions, Flint and Steel revealed the 
astounding news that Mr. Stockton had left 
his whole fortune to Lucy Blair. 

Mrs. Blair, at this turn of fortune's wheel, 
fainted away on the office floor at Flint's feet; 
Mrs. Green Brow^n went off into strong hys- 
terics in Steel's arms. Lucy alone, though 
pale and inwardly trembhng with emotion, 
was, even to the practised eyes of the smiling, 
congratulating Flint and Steel, quite calm. 
She was thinking of the depths of tenderness 
revealed by Mr. Stockton's bequest. She was 
inwardly mourning the kind old man, so true 
a friend, faithful to one who had rejected him, 
and caring for her even beyond the grave. 
She was recalling his looks, tones, and words, 


trying to make them tally with a devotion so 
touching and so rare — a forgiveness so sublime 
and affecting. She was thinking, too, of the 
awful, the solemn responsibilities, that ac- 
company the possession of great w^ealth. She 
felt that a new set of temptations surround 
the Rich — she was used to poverty. She had 
taken a high degree in the great school of 
adversity. She had acquired in it the faith 
that can remove mountains, the charity that 
hopeth all things, that believeth all things. 

She had learned the efficacy of prayer — 
she had often felt that the Poor were dear to 
their Father in Heaven — she had learnt to 
labour and to w^ait — to delight in employ- 
ment — to glory in patient endurance — to find 
comfort in self-dependence ; and now she had 
to learn how to lead a new life, how to enter 
the kingdom of Heaven, although she was 
rich ! A solemn stewardship, with all its holy, 
noble duties, awaited her now. No wonder 
the young girl was pale — no wonder that as 


soon as her mother was restored and Mrs. 
Green Brown quiet, and they returned home, 
Lucy stole to her own room, and having 
closed the door, knelt more humbly, and 
prayed as fervently for guidance in her sudden 
wealth, as she had ever done in her accus- 
tomed poverty. 

Nor was Henry Greville forgotten in that 
prayer. " Oh, may he prove true, may he 
love me still ! may he soon come to share a 
fortune worthless without him," said Lucy, 
while her tears fell like rain. " Father, grant 
that I may see him soon, loving and good, as 
when he left me !" 

As to Mrs. Blair and Mrs. Green Brown, 
the first excitement over, they were full of 
plans and schemes, in towering spirits, and 
Mrs. Green Brown declaring that Lucy, after 
all, must have been in love with old Stock- 
ton, to be so moping and miserable at his 

" I know if I were a girl just now, with a 


noble fortune, I wouldn't stay moping in these 
lodgings one hour," said Mrs. Green Brown ; 
'' I'd be off this very evening to Mivart's, or 
some such great hotel, I'd tell them who 1 
was, and what I was worth, Td have a suite 
of rooms the finest in the hotel ; I'd order 
the best dinner they could send up ; I wouldn't 
sit down in a half-furnished lodging in Cathe- 
rine Street, to a dinner-tea ; I'd invite my 
friends to something worth having. Come, 
Lucy, let's be off to Mivart's." 

" In the first place all this wealth is to 
come ; at present I am not a shilling richer 
than I was yesterday," said Lucy. 

" Oh, but Flint and Steel offered to accom- 
modate you to any amount," said Mrs. Green 
Brown. "Of course they know what for- 
malities have to be gone through, and they 
hope to be your agents." 

" My agents 1" said Lucy, with a faint 
smile. " I am bewildered — bear with mo. 
Dear mother, and friend,'* said Lucy, " all you 


wish shall be dcme in time — but not now. I 
am giddy with this turn of fortune's wheel ; I 
feel lead^ to we^ and lang^ bj tnnis. Let 
US have saane tea; I neTer Mi so low in all 
n^ troobles, as now I am at what the woild 
would caD the sunumt €i prospmtr. I can> 
not realise it Let me think it. all quietlT 
oTer to-nig^t, and to-monow we will do what 
jou win, mother, dear, and kind firiend, and 
gp where jou Hke." 

" She is oTercome, poor dear !" said Mrs. 
Blair, as hacj leaned bock in her chair and 
dosed her eyes, while Mrs. Green Brown, 
who ejected Cecil Sydney to tea, began to 
prepare for his reception. 

^^ How much like a play or a romance it 
seews," whispered Mrs. Green Brown. 
" There is Lucy, who yesterday was washing 
her bcmnet stiings because she could not affcNrd 
a new pair, and now she has tarns in the 
oonntiy, houses in town, shares, scr^, money 
in the fimds, in aD sorts ol banks, in long 


annuities, and I know not what chests of 
plate, quantities of furniture, plantations — in 
fact, Flint whispered to me that she is worth 
something like half a million, if she is worth 
a penny !" 

Mrs. Blair inwardly thanked the Giver of 
all good, as she said, " May she deserve it all, 
and prove a good steward !" 

After this they were, for some time, silent, 
and Mrs. Blair thought Lucy slept, when a 
double knock at the door -made , her start to 
her feet, and turn deadly pale. It was a 
knock Lucy remembered well. She stood 
like a marble statue, rigid and white, while 
steps were heard ascending the stairs, and the 
next moment, to the unspeakable surprise of 
her mother and Mrs. Green Brown, she rushed 
into the arms of a young man who appeared 
in the door-way " bearded like the pard," 
sun-burnt, shabbily dressed in a sort of blouse, 
but on whose broad breast Lucy was sobbing, 
as she cried : — 


" Oh, welcome, Harry, are you come at 
last ?" 

In a few moments all was explained, and 
Lucy, kneeling with Henry Greville at her 
mother's feet, owned that he had long been 
her heart's idol and her affianced husband. 

" I am not much richer, Lucy," he said, 
" than when I left you, but I have a small 
though promising farm, and I am come once 
more to entreat you and your mother to come 
and make it a second Eden. I cannot re- 
main quiet at the antipodes, darling, while my 
heart is here ! What say you, my beloved ? 
what say you, mamma elect ?" 

He then went on to say that the last letter 
Lucy had written to him, had decided him on 
returning home ; and, although he had not 
made very good progress towards realising a 
fortune in Australia, he felt he ought to be 
by Lucy's side. The ring he had left for a 
moment on the washing stand of an inn 
where he had slept, and when he went in search 


of it, he found it was gone — possibly some 
one had found and pledged it. The letters he 
had written he felt certain had been intercepted 
by some one who knew that they were to be 
directed to Mrs. Bragge's care. However, all 
this mattered nothing now ; and though for- 
tune had as yet done little for him 

" Stop," said Lucy, " you will not say that, 
Henry, when you know what she has done for 
me ! 

All was then revealed. Henry Greville, 
who thought he was urging a penniless bride 
to come with her poor mother, and make his 
Australian farm an Eden of the heart, found 
he had won an heiress, whom even his haughty 
family would now welcome with delight. 

Bright now, indeed, was the smile, bright 
the prospects of Lucy. Cecil Sydney joined 
the happy pair, and grey dawn found them 
still talking of the approaching nuptials of 
Lucy and Henry. 

There was no imprudence now in the ar- 


rangement for the marriage of Lucy and 
Henry, as soon as tlie trousseau could be got 
ready, and Mrs. Green Brown's mshes were 
complied with by the removal of the bride- 
elect, her mother, and herself to Mivart's, until 
Mr. Stockton's house, in St. James's Square, 
could be got ready for their reception. 

The Hon. Henry Greville's proud father, 
the Marquis, the haughty Marchioness, and all 
the Right Honourable Lords and Ladies, who 
had quite forgotten Henry's existence, came 
forward now to worship the golden idol ; and 
Lady Sarah herself deigned to approve, and 
wished the marriage to take place from her 
house — but Henry could not forget, though 
he soon forgave, and refused to sanction such 
an arrangement. 

The weddmg-day was fixed; and if ever 
happiness shone in any eyes and dwelt in any 
breasts, it was in those of Lucy and her lover. 




While i promessi sposi were engrossed by 
each other, and made shopping an excuse for 
going about together, chaperoned only by 
Mrs. Green Brown, Mrs. Blair, for the first 
time in her simple life, seemed to be grown 
very important and mysterious. She was 
often shut up writing letters. She sometimes 
Avent out without telling Lucy where she was 
going, and once Lucy fancied she caught a 
glimpse of her mother in a cab, with — marvel 
of marvels — Slimy Coil by her side, in earnest 


conference with her. At any other time Lucy 
would have been all anxiety, but just now she 
only asked her mother if there was not some- 
thing going on of a mysterious nature ; and 
Mrs. Blair owned there was, but that a few 
days would bring all to a happy denouement. 

It wanted but a week of Lucy's wedding, 
and she was accompanying, with her guitar, 
Henry Greville, who was singing " Who shall 
be fairest ?" when a note came to Mrs. Blair. 

" Private, most pressing, and immediate," 
was written outside, and Mrs. Blair, who had 
been so very absent and preoccupied for some 
time, and had so often been out alone, changed 
colour several times as she read it. 

" We must get ready directly, my love," she 
said to Lucy. " We shall want witnesses," she 
added ; " will you come, Mrs. Green Brown ? 
It is a matter of more than life and death." 

" I will come, for I hear Cecil knock ; and 
he shall escort us. I will go and get ready 
this moment." 


" What is it, dear mamma ?" asked Lucy. 

" You will know presently, my love. Do 
not ask me ; do not make me speak. I can 
hardly control my emotions, and yet I must 
be calm." 

" May I come in ?" said a well-known voice ; 
and the next moment Lucy was engaged in 
enlisting the services of Henry Greville, who 
had just arrived. 

He was, of course, of the party about to 
accompany Mrs. Blair on her mysterious and 
important visit. A carriage in which he had 
driven up was at the door ; Mrs. Blair, Lucy, 
and himself stepped in. 

" Where shall I tell him to drive, mamma 
elect ?" said Henry Greville, holding Lucy's 

"To Slimy Coil's office, CliflPord's Inn, 
Temple Bar," faltered Mrs. Blair. 

And thither they drove. They were shown 
into an inner room, and while there, they dis- 
tinctly heard two carriages drive to the door. 


Mrs. Blair started at the sound of a loud, 
angry, commanding voice, and Lucy cried, 
'* That, surely, is the voice of Sir George Ha- 
milton Treherne ;" while a haughty and shrill 
rejoinder in female tones made her start, and 
exclaim, " And that, I am certain, is Lady 
Hamilton Treherne's voice !" 

" No matter if it is, my darling," said Henry 
Greville. " No one can harm you. I am by 
your side !" 




Slimy Coil sat on a high office stool, at one 
end of a long writing table, parchments and 
packets of letters were before him. He was 
very pale, and there was a glitter in his eye 
both ferocious and crafty ; his grin, too, had 
in it something of cruelty and triumph. He 
looked like a httle wild cat about to spring. 
A fashionable cab dashed up to the door : out 
sprang Sir George Hamilton Treherne. 

He darted up stairs, exclaiming, "Well, 
Slimy, what's in the wind now ? Do you 

VOL. 111. z 


want to be made a Peer, and marry Princess 

" I Avant to do an act of justice too long 

" Justice to some love-lorn damsel, eh ? But 
what have I to do with your affairs ?" 

" More than you at present imagine. What 
I want is your aid and consent. The person 
I wish to marry is your daughter." 

" Are you mad, you impudent little ape ?" 
exclaimed Sir George. But the door opened, 
and, to his surprise, in came Lady Hamilton 
Treherne, on the arm of Count Humbug- 
anowski, and Augusta in the rear ! 

"What are we all summoned for?" said 
Lady Hamilton Treherne, haughtily. " I must 
beg you to be quick, Mr. Slimy Coil, for I 
have rushed away from a morning concert, and 
long to return to it." 

" If, when I have told you why I sent for 
your ladyship, your mind is still attuned to 
harmony, you s/iall return to it, my ladv," 
grinned Slimy Coil. 


" I ought to be at the House," said Sir 
George Hamilton Treherne. " Do be quick." 

'' My object, as I said before. Sir George, is 
to obtain your influence and consent to my 
obtaining the hand of your lovely — joui in- 
comparable daughter !" 

" My daughter," sneered Sir George. 

" Oh, I won't have him," cried Augusta. 
" I'll never be Mrs. Slimy Coil." 

" I was, I believe, once an o])ject of no 
little partiality to her mother," grinned Slimy 

" What do you mean by that ?" shrieked 
Lady Treherne. " What can he mean ? I 
partial to him ! Oh, Humbuganowski l" 

" You shall answer to a son of Varsaw," 
hissed the Pole. 

" Yes," continued Slimy Coil, " before she 
ever saw you, I was not an unwelcome suitor 
to your fair wife. I now beg you to grant me 
the hand of your fairer daughter." 

z 2 


He threw open the door, and beckoned 
Mrs. Blair and her party to approach, and 
exclaimed — 

" There they stand ! there is your misused, 
lawful wife ! there your only legitimate child !'* 

For a moment all present seemed trans- 
formed to stone. 

" Can it be ?" shrieked Mrs. Blair. " Oh, 
George ! do you live ? and are you here to 
claim your wife — your child ?" 

" My father !" exclaimed Lucy. " Ah, 
then, the instincts of my heart were true, and 
I had good cause for the deep, strange love I 
ever felt for you." 

Mrs. Blair had fainted in Sir George's 
arms. Lucy knelt at his feet. 

" Wliat ! you grinning, vicious, mischievous 
little ape !" at length exclaimed she whom we 
will still call by courtesy Lady Hamilton 
Treherne, addressing Slimy Coil. " AYhat 
mad scheme or base plot is this ?" 

" These papers will explain," said Slimy 


Coil. " Some twenty -two years ago, the pre- 
sent Sir George Hamilton fell in love with, and 
man-ied the pretty daughter of a curate, his 
tutor. The marriage was a private one, and 
he bore an assumed name. He was not very 
kind to the girl he had, as he thought, ruined, 
for he believed a marriage under a false name 
invalid ; nor was the union a happy one. He 
concealed all from his friends ; he went abroad, 
caused his wife to believe herself a widow, 
and did himself believe that she had died of 
a broken heart, as his family, who had some 
notion of the connection he had formed, gave 

" I was the confidant of both parties, and 
but for him might have been the husband of 
that lovely and forsaken wife. I induced his 
family to allow her a small pension. I ad- 
vised her to live abroad. I persuaded her 
that he was dead ; and as he took the name 
of Hamilton, with his uncle's fortune, and of 
Treheme, from the heiress who fancied her- 


self his wife, all is explained. His original 
name was, as you all know, Trelawny. 

" He returned ; believed himself free — 
married for her money, not herself, that 
haughty and most unlovable woman there. 
He did not suspect, nor did I for a long 
time, that in Lucy Blair, the daily governess, 
Avas the heiress of his house, and his only 
legitimate daughter. Had he helped me to 
a title, and the hand of that daughter, I would 
have kept his secret ; as it is, I depend on 
the gratitude of the real Lady Hamilton and 
Lucy herself. Lucy, Avill you refuse one who 
restores you to your lofty and lawful position ? 
Speak, sweet Lucy." 

" Miss Hamilton's hand is already pledged, 
sir," said Heniy Greville ; " and I am her 
affianced !" 

" I don't believe one word of this romance," 
at length exclaimed Lady Hamilton Treherne. 
'' Speak, Sir George ; am I not your wife ? — 
are not these women impostors ?" 


" No !" said Sir George, in a hollow voice ; 
"it is true ; I believed myself free, or I had 
never married you ; but this poor victim is 
my wife, this angel girl my daughter." 

" My lawyer shall look into this," said 
Lady Treherne, haughtily. " Come, Count, 
I shall go at once to Undermine's. Come, 

" We are sisters," sobbed Lucy, opening 
her arms, and Augusta rushed into them. 

" My poor Augusta," said her father, kiss- 
ing her tenderly. " Follow your mother, and 
forgive the involuntary wrong I have done 
you both." 

There is little more to tell. Lady Treherne, 
finding the facts even as Slimy Coil had 
stated them, gave her hand, and what re- 
mained of her fortune, to Humbuganowski. 
Sir George Hamilton — Treherne no longer — 
retired to the continent with his injured wife, 
so long called Mrs. Blair, and became a re- 
formed and very tolerable husband. The 


Countess carried off her daughters, and their 
fortunes, to Paris with her ; but Augusta 
often visited her sister Lucy, and a strong 
affection linked their hearts together. Henry 
Greville led to the altar the loving and lovely 
Lucy Blair, who had been tried in the ba- 
lance and not found wanting, and who, in the 
drudgery of the life of a daily governess, had 
learnt and practised all those virtues which 
make a model wife. Mrs. Green Brown, at 
the end of a few months, received tidings of 
her husband's death, and found herself his 
sole executor and residuary legatee. It seemed 
on his death-bed he had been tortured by re- 
morse for the cruelty of his conduct to her, . 
and had left her his whole fortune by way of 
atonement. He also confessed that she was 
perfectly sane when she was placed in the 
Blissful Retreat. This revelation injured the 
Frimly Mildmays so much that they broke. 
In due time Mrs. Green Brown, or rather 
Mrs. Crawley Blackadder, married Cecil 


Sydney. Augusta became the wife of young 
IMastemian ; and when last we heard of our 
sweet Lucy, she was the mother of a cherub 
boy and of a fair-haired girl. 

The great wealth left to her by Mr. Stock- 
ton, of which she considered herself less the 
possessor than the responsible trustee, en- 
abled her husband and herself to enjoy a 
luxury that never palls or enervates — the 
luxury of doing good to all men. Henry and 
Lucy had both known what it was to be poor. 
Both felt for the poor. Both loved to comfort 
and assist all who were struggling in that 
slough of despond from which they had 
emerged. Many wise charities were esta- 
blished by Lucy and Henry ; and a Home for 
Daily Governesses when out of employ is a 
favourite scheme of Mrs. Henry Greville's, and 
one which she is determhied to carry out in 
a style worthy of her great wealth. 

The Novel over whose rejection she liad 
shed such bitter tears, was pubhshed when 


Lucy became the rich Mrs. Greville. Beauti- 
fully illustrated and well advertised, it became 
*' the Novel of the season/' and that in spite 
of several severe and very long critiques upon 
it in the " Monday Review," by Grinlay Snarl 
himself, and some bitter attacks upon it by 
Brilliante in " The Wasp." Lucy laughed 
heartily over these evidences of jealousy and 
evil feeling. Henry Greville and herself grew 
daily more and more tenderly attached to each 
other ; and while esteem, friendship, and all 
the virtues, and all the sympathies, riveted 
the brilliant fetters with which Young Love 
bound their hearts together, Lucy thanked 
Providence for all blessinojs, and remembered 
that she might never have been seen or loved 
by Henry had she never been a Daily Gover- 


Billing, Printer, 103, Hatton Garden, London; and Gaildfcrd, Siiney/ 

• 13, Great MAELBOROVGn Street. 



AMOOR, AND THE Russian Acquisitions on the Confines of 
India and China; with Adventures among the Mountain 
KiRGHis, AND the Manjours, Manyargs, Toungou, Touzemitz, 
GoLDi, AND Gelyaks. By T. W. Atkinson, F.G.S., F.R.G.S., 
Author of " Oriental and Western Siberia." Dedicated, by per- 
mission, to Her Majesty. Second Edition. Royal Svo., with. 
Map and 83 Illustrations. £2 2s. elegantly bound, 
" Our readers have not now to learn for the first time the quality of Mr. Atkinson 
as an explorerer and a writer. The comments we made on, and the extracts we se- 
lected from his ' Oriental and Western Siberia,' will have sufficed to shnw that in 
the furmer character he takes rank witli the most daring of the class, and that in 
the latter he is scarcely to be surpassed for the lucidity, picturesqueness, and power, 
with which he pourtrays the scenes through which he has travelled, and tlie perils 
or the pleasures which encountered liimon the way. The present volume is not in- 
ferior to its predecessor. It takes us through localities, some of which are little, 
otliers not at all known to e¥en the best read men in the literature of travel. The 
entire volume is adniirable for its spirit, uuexaggerated tone, and the mass of fresh 
materials by which this really new world is made accessible to us. The followers, 
too, of all the ' ologies' will meet with something in these graphic pages of peculiar 
interest to them. It is a noble work." — Athenaeum. 


Family Documents. By the Duke of Buckingham, K.G. 2 vols. 
Svo. with Portraits, 30s. — completing " The Buckingham Papkrs." 


WESTERN AFRICA. By Francisco Valdez, Arbitrator at 
Loanda and the Cape of Good Hope. 2 vols. Kvo. with nuiiieruus 


TURNER. Being a series of Biographical Sketches. By Walter 
Thornbury. 2 vols. 21s. 
"Mr. Thornbury writes with knowledge and enthusiasm. The interest of hia 
sketches is unciuestionable." — Examiner^ 


ITALY. By Fredrika Bremer. Translated by Mary IIowitt. 2 v. 
"There is no more delightful writer than Miss Hiemer. These volumes are emi- 
nently worthy of perusal, and are by far the best travels which contain any account 
of Switzerland and Italy." — Herald. 


BIER, G.C.B., with Original Li.-tters from Lords Chatham, Nel- 
son, CasTLEREAGH, MllJiRAVE, HOLLAND, Mr. CaNNIM., ^&(•. 

Edited, from Family Papers, by Lady Chatteuton. JSecoiid Edv- 
tion. 2 vols. bvo. 28a. 

13, G-EEAT Maelboeoug-h Steeet. 


xN^EW WORKS— Continued. 

STUDIES FROM LIFE. By the Author of 

"John Halifax, Gentleman." 1 vol. 10s. 6d. elegantly bound. 

" A most charming volume — one which all women and most men would be proud to 
possess." — Chronicle. 

" For a Christmas Book few recent works can compare in sterling worth with this 
mo it interesting volume:'— Herald. 


FRESON, Esq. 2 vols, with Illustrations. 21s. 

" A very pleasant readable bookr." — Athenaum. 


AT SHENE AND RICHMOND. jBy Folkestone Williams, 
r.R.G.S., F.G.S., &c. 3 vols, with Portraits, 31s. 6d. 


COURT OF MEER ALI MOORAD ; with Wild Sports in 
the Valley of the Inj>us. By Capt. Langlev, late Madras 
Cavalry. 2 vols., 8vo., with Illustrations, 30s. 


Author of '• The Lives of Marguerite d'Angouleme," "Elizabeth de 
A^'alois," " Henry III.," &c. 2 vols., with Portraits, 21s. 


TIONS. By a Contemporary. 2 vols. 21s, 


By the Author of *' Grandmother's jMoney," '' Wildflower," 
&c. 1 vol. 10s. 6d. bound and illustrated. 


LAVAS; with Sporting Adventures in the Vale of Cashmere, 
Edited by " Mountaineer." 15s. 


of a Naval Officer. Edited by Capt. Aylmer. 2 vols. 21s. 


DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. From original and authentic 
sources. By Mrs. Thomson. 3 vols. 3 Is. 6d. 


Narrative of a Residence in Mozambique. By Lyons M'Leod, 
V.<(\.. F.R.G.S., late British Consul in Mozambique. 2 vols. With 
M;!!. and Illustrations. 21s. 





Each in a single volume, elegantly printed, bound, and illustrated, pncc os. 
A volume to appear every two months. The following are now ready. 



^ressrs Hurst and Blackett have very fitly inaugurated their Standard Library ol 
Populnr ^Modern "Works with this admirable volume. AVith roEcard to tliis we can trul.'v 
say :— Who can tire of the ircnuine sallies, the deep \visdoni wrapjiod up in merry cruise, 
and the side-sr)littin2; outbursts of geuiiiuo \vit, iu the i)aires of Haliburton? ' Nature 
and Human IWaturc' is ])articularly full of all these qualities: and to those who love a 
jETOod laugh, when they can enjoy it accompauied by good matter for rellection, and who 
ha^-e not yet read this production of Sam Slick, we can heartily recommend this elegant 
Edition." — Critic. 

" The first volume of Messrs Hurst and Blackett's Standard Librarv of Cheap Editions 
forms a very good begiuning to v/hat will doubtless be a very successful undertaking. 
'Nature and Human Nature' is one of the best of Sam Slick's witty and humorous 
productions, and well entitled to the large circulation which it cannot fail to obtain iu 
its present convenient and cheap shape. The volume combines with the great recom- 
mendations of a clear, bold type, and good paper, the lesser, but attractive merits, of 
being well illustrated and elegantly honvxV— Post. 

" This new and (^heap edition of Sam Slick's popular work will be an acquisition to all 
lovers of wit and humour. ]Mr Justice Halibnrton's \vritings are so well known that no 
commendation is needed. The volume is very handsomely bound and illustrated, and the 
paper and type are excellent. It is in every way suited for a library edition, and as tho 
names of ^Messrs Hurst and Blackett warrant the character of the works to be produced in 
their Standard Library, we have no doubt the project will be eminently successful." — Hun 


"This is a very good and a very interesting Avork. It is designed to trace the career 
from boyhood to age of a perfect man — a Christian gentleman, ami it alioiuuls in incident 
both well and highly v/rought. • Throughout it is conceived in a hish spirit, and written 
with great ability. This cheap and handsome new edition is worthy to pass freely from 
hand to hand as a gift book in many households."— i'xawiiHpr, 

" The new and cheaper edition of this interesting work Avill doubtless meet with great 
success. John Halifax, the hero of this most beautiful story, is no ordinary hero, and 
this his history is no ordinary book. It is a full-len.irth iiortrait of a true gentleman, ono 
of nature's own nobility. It 'is also the history of a home, and a thorousrhly Ihiglish one. 
The work aliounds iu incident, and many of the scenes are full of grai)hic power and tru« 
jiathos. It is a book that few will read without becoming wiser and hatter.— Scuts man. 

" ' John Halifax' is more than worthy of the author's reputation. We consider, in- 
deed, that it is her best work. There are in it many passages of beautiful writing. 
The closing scenes are deeply pathetic, and few will lay down the book without tenrful 
eyes. 'John Halifax' is a picture, drawn with a nnisterly hand, of one of natuie's 
gentlemen. Everybody who ever reads a novel slunUd read this one." — ('rific. 

"The story is very interesting. The attaclnncnt between John Halifax and his wife 
is beautifully painted, as are the piettn-es of tiieir domesiie life, and the arrowing up of 
their cliildreu, and the conclusion c)f the book is lieautil'ul and touching." — Afiuiui-ntn. 

"John Ilnlifax is one of the noblest stories anions: modern works of fiction. Tho 
intcnst of tlie story is enthralling, the characters admirably sustained, and the moral 

"In 'John Hahfax' every character is consistently conceived and very truthfully 
delineated. The incidents, t\w. scenes, tho ' still life, are painted with a jjower that 
sustnius th(^ attention of the reader." — Spo-laior. 

" If the delineation of the Kraud in chanieter, the glorious in action, the tender in 
feeling, the i)ure in he:irt, can bestow eniin<'nee on a production, tliis work must tako 
its jjlace among the standard and the e.\cellent." — ISun. 

[continued on tue following pages.] 





"Tnfleponclent of its value as an oriadual narrative, and its useful and interestinc: 
informfition, this work is remarkable for the colouring power and play of fanpv with 
which its descriptions are enlivened. Among its greatest and most lasting charms is its 
reverent and serious spirit."— (>;/arfe?-/^ Review. 

" A book calculated to prove more practically useful was never penned than ' The 
Crescent and the Cross'— a work which surpasses all others in its homage for the sub- 
lime and its love for the beautiful in those famous regions consecrated to everlasting 
immortality in the annals of the prorihets. and which no other writer has ever depicted 
with a pencil at once so reverent and so picturesque." — Sun. 

" In the mixture of story with aucc(lv)tc, information, and impression, it perhajis 
surpasses ' Eothen.' Innumerable passages of force, vivacity, or humour are to bo 
found in the volumes,"— /Sijec^a^or. 


" ' Nathalie ' is Miss Kavanagh's best imaginative effort. Its manner is aracioixs and 
attractive. Its matter is good. A sentinipnt, a tenderness, are commanded by her which 
are as individual as they are elegant. We shovild not soon come to an end were we to 
specify all the delicate touches and attractive pictures which place ' Nathalie ' high among 
books' of its c\?^s."—Athenceum. 

" A tale of untiring interest, full of deen touches of human nature, exhibiting all that 
self-sacrificing devotion, and all that sensitive waywardness, the combination of which 
constitutes one of tlie most powerful charms, as well as one of the greatest riddles, of the 
female character. We have no .hesitation in predicting for this delishtful tale a lasting 
popularity, and a place in the foremost ranks of that most instructive kind of fiction— the 
moral novel." — John Bull. 

" A more judicious selection than Nathalie could not have been made for IMessrs Hurst 
and Blackett's Standard Library. The series as it advances realises our first impression, 
that it v.'ill be one of lasting celebrity." — Literary Gazette. 



" A book of sound counsel. It is one of the most sensible works of its kind, well-writ- 
ten, true-hearted, and altogether practical. Whoever wishes to give ad\ice to a young 
lady may thank the author for means of doing so." — Examiner. 

" The author of ' John Halifax ' will retain and extend her hold unon the reading and 
reasonable public by the merits of her present work, which bears the stamp of good sense 
and genial iQ^liw^.''— Guardian. 

" These thoughts are good and humane. They are thoxights we would wish women to 
think : they are much more to the purpose than the treatises upon the women and daugh- 
ters of England, which were fashionable some years ago, and these thonihts mark the 
progress of opinion, and indicate a higher tone of character, and a juster estimate of 
woman's position."— ^t///i.enrr«w. 

" This really valuable volume ought to be in every young woman's hand. It will teach 
her how to think and how to act. We are glad to see it in this Standard Library."— 
Literary Gazette. 

" It is almost unnecessai'y to remark that the authoress of 'John Halifax' must 
almost surely write a clever book; but there arc deep thoughts upon the of 
voman's conduct and disposition, in this volume, which for accurat^v and excellence 
jjupersede tlie fornuu' jjroductions of the same i)en. The book will' attract and de- 
light those whom it docs not pi'ofcss to tQM'h."—John Bull. 

" Originating in the !)urest of motives,— the desire of seciiigthe female i)ortion of tlie 
community virtuous, wise, us<?ful, happy,— these thoughts arc worthy of the earnest 
and enlightened mind, the all-embracing charity, and the woil-ear.ied reputation of 
the autlior of ' John Halifax.' "—Herald. 

"A sensible well-written review of the true position and duties of women. There 
are some exceedingly valuable remarks upon female professions and liandicrafts." — 




" ' Adam Graeme' is a story awakening genuine emotions of interest and delight bj' its 
iidmirable pictures of Scottish life and scenery. The plot is cleverly complicated,"^ and 
there is great vitality in the dialogue, and remarkable brilliancy in the descriptive pas- 
sages, as who that has read 'Margaret Maitland' would not be prepared to expect? 
But the story has a 'mightier magnet still,' in the healthy tone which pervades it, in 
its feminine delicacy of thought and diction, and in the truly womanly tenderness of 
its sentiments. The eloquent author sets before us the essential attributes of Chris- 
tian virtue, their deep and silent workings in the heart, and their beautiful manifesta- 
tions in the life, with a delicacy, a power, and a truth which can hardly be surpassed." 
—Morning Post. 


" The humour of Sara Slick is inexhaustible. He is ever and everj-\vhcre a welcome 
visitor ; smiles greet his approach, and -wit and wisdom hang upon his tongue. The 
ju'esent production is remarkable alike for its racy humour, its sound philosophy, the 
feUcity of its illustrations, and the delicacy of its satire. AVe promise our readers a 
gi-eat treat from the perusal of these 'Wise Saws and Modern Instances,' which contain 
a world of practical wisdom, and a treasury of the richest fun."— Pos^. 

"We have not the slightest intention to criticise this book. Its reputation is made, 
and -will stand as long as that of Scott's or Bulwer's Novels. The remarkable ori- 
ginality of its purpose, and the happy description it affords of American life and man- 
ners, still continue the subject of universal admiration. To say thus much is to say 
<^nough, thoug'ii we must .iu'st mention that the new edition forms a part of tlie Pub- 
lishers' Cheai:) Standard Library, which has included some of the very best specimens 
of light literature that ever have been vn-iitan."— Messenger. 


" A picturesque book on Rome and its ecclesiastical sovei-eigns, by an eloquent Ro- 
man Catholic. Cardinal Wiseman has here treated a special subject with so much 
generality and gcrniality, that his recollections will excite no ill-feeling in t;;os(? who 
are most conscientiously opposed to every idea of human infallibility represented in 
Papal domination."— ^^/te«<:eMHi. 



"We are always glad to welcome Miss jMuloch. Slie writes from her own convic- 
tions, and she lias the power not only to conceive clearly wliat it is that she wishes to 
say, but to express it in language ell'eetive and vigorous. In 'A Life for a Life ' she is 
fortunate in a goorl subject, and she has produced a work of strong effect. Tlu^ 
reader having read tin; book through for the story, will be apt (if he be of our per- 
suasion) to return and read again many pages aiid passages with greater pleasurn 
than on a first ncrusal. The whole book is replete with a graceful. t(>ndor di-li- 
cacy; and in addition to its other merits, it is written in good careful English."— 

"The works of this author go beneath the surface, and present a picture of human 
joys and human sulleriugs in which those deep hopes, disappointments, and sorrows, 
which are tiie very well-springs of our existence, are brouirht to liuriit, and set before 
us by a sympathising mind. ' A Life for a Life; ' is a book of this class. The characterg 
are depicted with a masterly hand, the events are dramaticallv .set fortli ; the descrip- 
tions of scenery and sketches of society are admirably penned"; nionvncr tlie work ha.'>» 
an object— a clearly defined moral-most iK)etically. most lieautifullv drawn ; and 
through all there is that strong rellective mind visible which lays bare the human 
heart and human mind to the very core." — Post. 




"A delightful book, of which the charm begins at tlie first line on the first page, for full of 
ouaint and pleasant memories is the phrase that is its title, 'The Old Court Suburb.' Verj' full, 
too both of quaint and pleasant memories is the line that designates the author. It is the name 
of the most cheerful of chroniclers, the best of remembrancers of good things, the most polished 
and entertaining of educated gossips. 'The Old Court Suburb ' is a work that will be welcome to 
all i-eaders and^nost welcome to those who have a love for the best kinds of reading." — Examiner. 

"A more agreeable and entertaining book has not been published since Boswell produced his 
reminiscences" of Johnson."— 065errer. 


" We may save ourselves the trouble of giving any lengthened re\iew of this work, for we recom- 
mend all w'ho are in search of a fascinating novel to read it for themselves. They will find it well 
worth their while. There are a freshness and originality about it quite charming, and there is a 
certain nobleness in the treatment both of sentiment and incident which is not often fouud."- 


"This work is redolent of the heartv fun and strong masculine sense of our old friend ' Sam 
SlicK.' In these sketches we have different interlocutors, and a far greater variety of character 
•than in 'Sam Slick,' while in acuteness of observation, pungency of remark, and abounding hearti- 
npss of droUery, the present work ot Judge Haliburton is quite equal to the first. Every page is 
alive with rapid, fresh sketches of character, droll, quamt, racy sayings, good-humoured practical 
jokes, and capitally-told anecdotes."— CATO?2icfe. 

"These popular sketches, in which the Author of 'Sam Slick' paints Nova Scotian life, form the 
12th Volume of Messrs Hurst and Blackett's Standard Library of Modern Works. The publioa- 
tfons included in this Library have all been of good quality ; many give information while they 
entertain, and of that class the book before us is a specimen. The manner in which the Cheap 
Editions forming the series is produced deserves especial mention. The paper and print are un- 
exceptionable ; there is a steel engraving in each volume, and the outsides of them will satisfy the 
purchaser who likes to sec a regiment of books in handsome uniform." — Examiner. 


"This last production, from the pen of the author of 'The Crescent and the Cross,' has the same 
elements t)f a very wide popularity. It will please its thousands."— G/oJ^e. 

"Tlu3 work will be read with peculiar interest as the last contribution to the literature of his 
country of a man endowed with no ordinary gifts of intellect. Eliot Warburton's active and pro- 
ductive genius is amply exemplified in the present book. We have seldom met with any work in 
which the realities of history and the poetry of fiction were more happily interwoven."— i/;u.s/rated 


BY SIR BERNARD BURKE, Ulster Ejng op Arms. 

•' It were impossible to praise too highly as a work of amusement this most interesting book, 
vj^hether we should have regard to its excellent plan or its not less excellent execution. It ought to 
be found on every drawing-room table. Here you have nearly fifty captivating romances with the 
pith of all their interest preserved in undiminished poignancy, and any one mayl-* read in half an 
hour. • It is not the least of their merits that the romances are founded on fact — or what, at least, 
has been handed down for truth by Ions tradition- and the romance of reality far exceeds the 
romance of fiction. Each story is told in the clear, unaffected style with which the author's former 
works have made the public ixwlvix,"— Standard.